


The Corinthe School for Boys

by juanjoltaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boarding School, Caning, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Rivalry, Snobjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 124,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juanjoltaire/pseuds/juanjoltaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Enjolras's last year at the Corinthe School for Boys, a prestigious boarding school in France for the elite. He's president of the ABC Society and he has a dorm room all to himself. Things are looking up. That is, until he finds out there's a new kid joining their class this year. The unkempt, infuriating Grantaire, who seems to have been sent to the school simply to be a burden on Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unwelcome Addition

**Author's Note:**

> I drew a [map of the school](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) in case you want to see the campus as you read. (Open in a new tab)
> 
> This is a character arc fic about Enjolras learning how to be a good Enjolras. Please be patient with him as he figures that out.
> 
> Both Enjolras and Grantaire are 18 in this fic. (just as I was when I was a senior in high school)

It was September, a month filled with the scents of new school books and the last summer flowers in the courtyard gardens. A return to the familiar after three months away. Enjolras took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air as he stood in front of the old brick dormitories with his parents, saying their final goodbyes.

“We’re so proud of you,” Enjolras’s mother said tearily, as she pulled him into a hug.

“Mom,” Enjolras said, embarrassed, gently patting her back.

He was a senior now, it would be his last year at the Corinthe School for Boys. His last year wearing the signature navy blue blazers and red-striped ties. His last year spent roaming the grounds with his best friends. It was bittersweet, but it was time.

“President of the ABC Society,” his father reminded him as he hugged him in turn. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Senior year came with its benefits. After three years of membership, Enjolras was now in charge of the exclusive ABC Society dinner club, a role which would look good on his resume if any alumni were looking. It was one of his favorite things to do every month at school, gathering together to talk about the future of the world, or more pressing matters such as which law and medical schools they might end up attending after they went to university.

“We love you,” his mother said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a wonderful school year.”

Enjolras gave them a last wave as they got into their car, and turned to head upstairs into the dorm. On his way he passed by Marius, who was saying a formal goodbye to his grandfather on the front steps, then climbed up the three flights of stairs to the senior floor of the dormitory.

In addition to leading the club, Enjolras had something else to look forward to this year. His father had let him reserve one of the expensive single rooms, complete with its own bathroom, a privilege only offered to a few senior boys who had the means. While he had enjoyed living with one of his closest friends, Courfeyrac, for the past few years, he was glad not to have to share a bathroom with all the other boys on his floor this time around. Besides, Courfeyrac was excited to be rooming with Marius this year, and had no qualms with Enjolras moving out.

He made his way down the hallway, letting himself back into his new room, and began to unpack. The next hour was spent setting clothes neatly in the dresser, arranging school supplies inside the desk, and admiring this new space, a room he had all to himself. The calm didn’t last long however, as there suddenly came a loud knocking at the door. Enjolras jumped up, and had barely gotten the door open before Combeferre and Courfeyrac were bursting through the entranceway, hugging him in a joyous reunion.

“Senior year, senior year!” Courfeyrac shouted excitedly.

“Nice digs,” Combeferre added approvingly. “Lucky you.”

Together they walked from the dorms over to the Great Hall for their first dinner back at school. There was something about the food at Corinthe; the kitchen staff seemed to have a magic touch. “I missed this,” Enjolras said, as he ate his chicken soup.

“You’re telling me,” Courfeyrac said, eagerly stuffing his face with meat and potatoes.

They were soon joined by more familiar faces, as the cafeteria filled up with students who wouldn’t be eating dinner with their parents before parting ways. Marius. Bahorel. Joly. Bossuet. Enjolras grinned as they took their seats around him, happy to finally see his friends again after a long summer away. They hadn’t all arrived yet, but by tomorrow they would be together again, all of them the proud senior members of the ABC Society. This was their last year at school, and they would make it a good one, a year full of potential and promise.

After dinner and a pleasant walk around the grounds as night fell, they returned to the dorms to find their schedules waiting for them in their mailboxes in the lobby. There were no surprises, Enjolras had registered before summer began and knew exactly what he was taking, and what he had been stuck with. He frowned at the sheet apprehensively as they climbed the stairs, though at least tomorrow he would be attending classes he had planned to sign up for.

He went to bed early that night, as soon as ten o’clock curfew hit. It was his last night without homework, and he took full advantage of it by resting up, his uniform laid out over his desk chair in preparation for the next day. There was no roommate to make noise, no one to tell him to keep the light on, and the room remained blessedly dark and quiet as he drifted off to sleep. He knew that senior year would be the most difficult of them all, but despite the nerves he wanted more than anything to be the exemplary student he was always meant to be, and conquer the day ahead of him.

Enjolras awoke promptly to his alarm, dressed and slung his schoolbag over his shoulder. After breakfast in the cafeteria, and getting the chance to see his friends Jehan and Feuilly, who had finally arrived, he headed to the academic building for his first class of the day, Economics with Madame Fantine. Although he was new to the subject, he found he liked it, and his teacher as well. She was patient and kindhearted it seemed, even if he did sense a hint of sadness behind her eyes as she explained the basics behind supply and demand. Next was History with Monsieur Mabeuf, an old man with a real passion for teaching. Enjolras listened and took notes with rapt attention, as Mabeuf spoke animatedly about the battle of Waterloo, a topic that had never fully interested him before now.

Overall, it had been a successful morning. His first classes of the year had went well, and he was eager to report back to his friends. He left the academic building, crossing the courtyard back to the Great Hall to meet them for lunch. The breeze ruffled his blonde hair and he let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes, happy to finally be back on schedule at his home away from home.

Suddenly, he was jarred and nearly knocked over as someone ran into him from behind. “Sorry! Sorry, I was looking down, sorry…” a voice sputtered, and Enjolras whirled around to see an unkempt brunette boy avoiding his gaze, quickly edging around him to get away. Enjolras spun around once more and saw him running off toward the Great Hall.

“Watch where you're going,” Enjolras grumbled under his breath, rubbing his shoulder where the boy had smacked into him. It was odd, he had looked old enough to be a senior, but Enjolras had never seen him before. With an annoyed twitch of his eyebrows, he adjusted his schoolbag and followed slowly afterward.

When he pushed open the big wooden doors, he found Combeferre and Courfeyrac smiling and waving at him cheerily from a table near the windows overlooking the lake. Enjolras went to get a tray of food and joined them. “So how was your morning?” he asked, eating a spoonful of macaroni.

“Biology was good,” Combeferre chimed in. “Fauchelevent seems to be an expert in plants.”

“We had a lecture on the genetics of flowers and how they intermix. It was actually very interesting,” Courfeyrac added.

Enjolras nodded intently, secretly a little envious that his two best friends had a matching schedule, while he only shared one course with them at all. But he had made a choice at the end of last year, and ended up with different electives. “Will you get to grow anything in class?”

“Yes. We planted some seeds today, you know Jehan loved that,” Combeferre said. “Oh! And there's something else we found out today. We have a new-”

“Speak of the devil,” Courfeyrac hissed, his eyes staring off behind Combeferre.

Enjolras looked over his shoulder, and there was the boy who had run right into him, standing in the middle of the hall with his lunch tray and looking lost. His shirttail was coming out of his pants and it seemed he had completely forgotten to wear the mandatory red and blue striped tie. “Who is that?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That's the new kid,” Courfeyrac replied. “He was in our Biology class too.” Enjolras could have guessed this, seeing as there appeared to be potting soil on the boy’s shirt leftover from the plant exercise.

“His name’s Grantaire. He didn't talk much but Joly told me he was sent here at the last minute,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras eyed him, disliking this Grantaire immediately, factoring together his disheveled appearance and the shock he had given Enjolras earlier out in the courtyard. And here he was standing there with a tray of food, as if he had forgotten where he was going. Then he noticed how red the boy's eyes were. “A stoner, from the looks of it?”

Combeferre turned back to his lunch to make it less obvious they were speaking of him. “Considering his story, I'd say it's more likely he's been crying. Joly spoke to him earlier in his first class. Seems like his mom just remarried and the stepdad didn't want him around, so boarding school was the answer. He doesn't want to be here.”

"Clearly." Enjolras continued to watch with a thoughtful frown as Grantaire seemed to come back to himself, noticing the curious looks he was receiving from various tables, and went to sit down by himself at an empty table in the corner. Enjolras turned back to his food. “I don't get why boarding school has such a bad reputation,” he argued, buttering a roll. “We live at school with our friends. We're getting the best education there is, and we’re practically set up to attend any university we want. I don't see the problem.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Changing schools probably isn’t easy. Anyway, how about you? How did your morning go?”

“My classes went really well. I think you’ll enjoy Mabeuf when you go to History. He’s old but he knows his stuff. And then-” Enjolras cut himself off, scowling as he spotted something else that warranted his disapproval. The group of boys that called themselves Patron-Minette had sauntered into the Great Hall, Montparnasse with his blazer thrown over his shoulder standing in front and gazing around haughtily. Courfeyrac turned around to see what Enjolras and Combeferre were staring at coolly.

“Oh, great,” Courfeyrac muttered. “I almost forgot the one truly terrible thing about this place. Them.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Combeferre commented dryly.

Montparnasse and his gang pushed a few freshmen out of the way as they made for the lunch line, Brujon nearly putting a smaller boy who protested in a chokehold. “Ah, senior year. Isn’t it nice to finally be on top, boys?” they heard Montparnasse ask silkily as he passed by their table.

“Is that right, Parnasse?” Courfeyrac asked curiously, loud enough for him to hear. “I always thought you were more of a bottom.”

Montparnasse threw their table a glare, his pale cheeks turning pink, but chose not to grace the question with a reply as the gang moved on and shoved their way to the front of the lunch line.

“ _Courf,_ ” Enjolras scolded. While it was practically common knowledge that Montparnasse liked boys, Courfeyrac could always be counted on to be inappropriate. "Don't."

“Oh, come on, he's way into the big athletic type, look who he surrounds himself with,” Courfeyrac replied dismissively, returning to his food. He lowered his voice. “And really, I swear he was making eyes at Bahorel all last year in math class. Posing in his chair and sucking his pen... I'm not sure if Bahorel even noticed but it was certainly amusing to watch.”

“Tsk, I _hope_ Bahorel didn't give him any attention,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. He wasn't sure if he believed Courfeyrac, but still, he knew his friends would never get mixed up with the leader of Patron-Minette. "Who would want to be with an arrogant prick like that?”

“Yeah. Who would want an ungodly wealthy pretty boy leading them around telling them what to do, I ask you?” Courfeyrac grinned, his gaze turned innocently upward, and Combeferre let out an amused snort.

“What,” Enjolras demanded, putting down his spoon. “Was that a dig at me? Are you talking about me?”

“Oh no, no, my dear, we love you,” Combeferre assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him playfully as Courfeyrac nodded.

Enjolras smiled reluctantly back, wiggling out of Combeferre's grasp when he realized his shoulder still ached from his courtyard collision with the new kid. “Hush,” he scolded his friends, shaking his head. “I'm not like that.”

After lunch, Enjolras had French Literature with Monsieur Tholomyes on the first floor of the academic building. It was a bit boring, as Enjolras found him to be over-complicating the lesson, though he was glad their first assignment of the semester would be a classic he had been meaning to read. When that was over, he climbed the stairs up to his final course of the day, Debate, an elective for the boys meaning to go into law and politics taught by the formidable Monsieur Javert.

The teacher had earned himself the whispered nickname of "Inspector Javert," for he was said to always be on the lookout for a kid to throw in detention. He was formal and strict, and scared the freshmen who happened to cross his path in the hallways. Many were warned by fellow classmates not to take Debate, but Enjolras wasn't worried. He was good with public speaking, and would never let himself be afraid of a teacher.

But he was surprised to see Montparnasse walking into class behind him. “I didn’t know you had any interest in a law career, Parnasse,” Enjolras said, annoyed as Montparnasse chose the desk right behind the one he had picked out.

“I don’t, but my father thinks it might be a helpful skill in the business field,” he replied as he slid into his seat.

“Whatever daddy wants, right?” Enjolras asked, sitting down as well, and Montparnasse kicked the back of his chair as he did.

The rest of the class was settling down in their seats when Monsieur Javert strode in, straightening his coat. He began to take attendance before anything else, and one student was notably missing: Grantaire. Javert read the name out twice before marking him absent, his mouth tightening in annoyance.

Javert was halfway through his introduction to the class when Grantaire finally made his appearance. “Monsieur Grantaire?” Javert asked, stopping him before he could find a seat.

“I couldn’t find the classroom,” Grantaire replied, seeming more angry than apologetic, and still looking as unkempt as before. “I didn’t even know I was put in this elective.”

“Is there some sort of exchange program for poor kids?” Montparnasse whispered behind Enjolras to no one in particular. “Look at him.”

“I will be lenient on that account as this is the first day of school,” Javert told Grantaire. “But that does not excuse your state of dress. Am I to assume you’ve already received detention in a previous class for your missing tie?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, lowering his head.

“Then why did you not retrieve it?” Javert snapped, already writing out a new detention slip.

“I didn’t think there was time,” Grantaire said in exasperation, his eyes wandering over the students watching him intently. His gaze met Enjolras’s, and there was a flicker of recognition before he cast it down on the floor again, his cheeks flushed red. “It won’t happen again. Sir.”

“Tuck in your shirt and sit down,” Javert said plainly, handing him the slip. Grantaire quickly did so, stuffing his shirttail into his pants and taking an empty desk at the back, hiding his face in his hands. Then the lesson resumed, and after Javert had finished going over the syllabus and expectations, he went over to the blackboard. He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote DISCIPLINE across the board in big white letters, emphasizing it with an underline. “We’ll start off this week with the very relevant topic of discipline here at this school,” he said, indicating Grantaire as he put down the chalk. “Why is it necessary? I know you’re all very smart and well-spoken boys or otherwise you wouldn’t be here. So let’s try a round right away, shall we? Let’s test your current skills in debate. You’ll each come up in pairs and make an argument for or against the system of discipline at this school, considering every year it seems to come up on your student evaluations as being ‘unfair.’ Who would like to be first?”

Enjolras raised his hand, ready to take initiative. He had fully expected Javert would ask for a cold opening on the first day of class. “I would like to be first, sir. And I will be arguing _against_ the system of discipline.” He himself had made plenty of suggestions on the previous year's evaluation forms for possible improvements to the school, and the system of discipline was one of them. He knew what to say, and confidence was the key to a successful first impression.

Javert nodded and gestured to the front of the classroom, where two wooden podiums were waiting. Enjolras stood up from his seat and chose a podium. “And who will be in opposition?” Javert asked. He looked around the classroom for volunteers, but no one raised their hand. Montparnasse looked pointedly away out the window, avoiding Javert’s gaze. “How about… Grantaire?” Javert seemed almost gleeful as Grantaire raised his head from his hands, eyes wide.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you. You will be arguing _for_ our system of discipline here at this school.” He seemed to relish the idea, considering he had just given him detention.

”But I’m new.” Grantaire argued, confused. “I don’t know anything about-”

“I believe you just learned how it works,” Javert said impatiently. “Now get up.”

Bewildered, Grantaire slowly rose from his desk and took his place at the podium facing Enjolras. They stared at each other for a moment, then Enjolras broke his gaze and looked out at the other students. “I’ll go first,” he said, as if to assure the class that at least one of them knew what he was doing.

“Our system of discipline is flawed,” Enjolras began. “When a student is bad, a teacher decides his punishment through detention. But that punishment is an unknown quantity. There is no predetermined standard of how he will be disciplined, and therefore he is not fully aware of the consequence of his actions, until it is too late.” At this, Enjolras eyed Grantaire. He had not one, but two detentions, and neither he nor Enjolras had any idea how he would end up serving them. He almost felt sorry for Grantaire, even though he should have known to remedy his uniform violation after the first detention. He turned back to the class. “Punishments here are arbitrary and ill-defined, and aren’t necessarily an equivalent measure against the wrongdoing. Instead, they may reinforce negative feelings toward authority and continue the pattern of behavior that led to the punishment. It is therefore in my opinion that the student body should create their own system of self-discipline. We have a student council, we elect and choose the students we find most capable of leading us as a school. I believe that we as students would also be able to enforce our own code of ethics. Who better to know what the students want and need then the students themselves? We are equals amongst each other, we are all students. When authority is placed in the hands of a man who finds himself superior, it leads to abuses of power. Why should that power be given so freely? I propose a dissolution of the current system of discipline, and in its place, I offer the idea of a election-based student disciplinary committee to keep order, and a student contract with a code of conduct for all attending the school to sign. We should create a system of our own, by the students, for the students. Thank you.”

There was a scattering of awkward clapping, the class unsure if they were meant to applaud after a speech or not. Javert merely grunted, though Enjolras kept his head held high. He wouldn’t let Javert intimidate him. Grantaire was staring over at him, and Enjolras grinned, certain he had impressed him.

Grantaire leaned on his podium, slouching over it as if he needed it for support. “You know, I was with you until you stopped making sense. What are you even talking about?” he asked with amusement, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras reddened and sucked in his breath as a few members of the class laughed, but Grantaire continued. “You're saying a lot of words and I’m not sure you understand what you’re actually suggesting. Have you ever read _Lord of the Flies_? Or just, let me ask, have you even _been_ in a school before today? Sure, young people are capable of coming up with their own methods of discipline but they are even more erratic than what you have now. Teenage boys are animals, and you would trust them with punishing one another? Just today in the cafeteria I saw plenty of abuses of power from older students on younger students. Pushing them around, cutting the line…” Grantaire said, casually pointing at Montparnasse.

“Me?” Montparnasse mouthed innocently.

“He was one of many. Where was the discipline in that situation? Did you stand up as a vigilant citizen and say no, don’t pick on them? I think not. You know perfectly well that seniors don’t view themselves as equals to freshman, you’re kidding yourself to say otherwise. And the power to discipline one another would ensure the same sort of oppression you’re speaking up against. Your proposed ideals are just that, idealistic. Be a realist and understand that that’s not how school works. School is set up this way because that is how the institution of learning has evolved over centuries. The system of authority, the headmaster, the teachers, they’re all there to make sure that students don’t destroy themselves from within. And we need that to keep the school from burning down or, you know, whatever," Grantaire shrugged with a roll of his eyes. Then he smiled at the class. "Thanks.”

There was more applause this time, the students seeming delighted that Enjolras stood there fuming. Even Javert was smiling, to Enjolras’s horror, and Grantaire hadn’t even been eloquent. “Sir, I would like the chance for a rebuttal,” Enjolras insisted.

“That’s enough,” Javert replied dismissively. “Sit down and we’ll take our next pairing. You, and... you.”

Enjolras sat at his desk, his cheeks burning up, while Montparnasse struggled through an opening argument that was clearly a rephrasing of Enjolras’s own words. He crossed his arms and threw a glare over at Grantaire. How dare he make a fool of him in front of a teacher like that, when he was trying to make a good impression. Someone was _supposed_ to argue against the system of discipline, that was the _assignment_. Javert was clearly biased towards the argument for the system in the first place, he shouldn’t blame Enjolras for volunteering to take the more challenging stance. Grantaire caught him looking in his direction and gave a little wave of his fingers. Enjolras scowled and spent the rest of the class examining the patterns in the wooden surface of his desk.

He was glad to be free of the stuffy classroom once it was over, and he quickly hurried across the courtyard back to the dorms to unwind in peace and quiet. He climbed the stairs up to the top floor, and headed to the end of the hall where he extracted his key, unlocked his door, and… stared.

Someone had been in the room. Someone had put more furniture in it since he had left it that morning for breakfast. Someone had moved his things to one side of the room and put their things on the other side. Now there was a second bed, a second dresser, a second desk, and luggage. Enjolras was pale, confused by this unexpected intrusion. How could this be?

“Oh. It’s you,” a familiar voice said behind him.

Enjolras spun around and there was Grantaire, key in hand, though he pocketed it seeing that the door was already open. “What are you doing?” Enjolras demanded. “Are these your things? Get them out of here. This is a _single._ This is my room. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Grantaire frowned, still standing there in the doorway where he didn’t belong. “I think ‘didn’t anyone tell you’ is a question for you, really. They didn’t have anymore doubles open, so they added me to this room. It wasn’t my doing.”

“They didn’t even ask me!” Enjolras protested, still staring at Grantaire’s offensive luggage in disbelief. “I _paid_ to be alone, this is ridiculous.” Suddenly, he realized there was no point in staying here to argue with Grantaire. He would fix this. “Don’t unpack,” he snapped, turning and leaving the room.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings!” Grantaire called after him. "It was just a debate!"

Enjolras marched back down each flight of stairs and exited the dorms once more, making his way to the administration building at the front entrance of the school. It was an impressive piece of architecture, with several columns supporting a round portico and sculpted crowned lions flanking the stone steps. He had only needed to come here a few times before, but this was an important enough matter that it warranted another visit. “I need to see the headmaster,” Enjolras demanded as he went up to Dahlia, the receptionist in front of the headmaster’s office. She looked confused, then stood and opened the office door, looking in and speaking softly to the man on the other side.

“Alright,” she said, turning and opening the door further for Enjolras. “You can go in.”

Enjolras went through the doorway, and there was Headmaster Valjean, seated at his big mahogany desk, setting down his pen and looking up from a letter he was writing. “Monsieur Enjolras,” he said in greeting.

“Headmaster,” Enjolras nodded back respectfully.

“Have you come to me about your new roommate?” he asked.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, surprised this was a matter that Valjean was already aware of, and nodded silently.

“I understand you may be concerned, but I have called your father this morning and credited back to him the extra amount charged for a single bedroom over the standard double.”

“I…” Enjolras could already see his chance for an argument slipping away. “I wasn’t even asked,” he said in a small voice. “H-headmaster, this... this situation is unfair.”

“I know how you must be feeling, but would it be fair of me to deny this new student a place to sleep?”

 _Don’t you have a limit on how many students can be accepted?_ he wanted to ask, but he could tell an exception had been made, somehow. “Why me?” he begged. “There are other singles. There are others he could share with instead.”

“Enjolras, you have always been one of our best students. You have been a leader and a role model. It was my belief that you would be gracious enough to welcome another student, and that I could rely on you to take him under your wing and help him become acquainted with his new school. Was my trust in you misplaced?”

Enjolras stared, disconsolate, and he felt the threatening sting of tears in his eyes. _Yes,_ he was longing to say, if it would undo what had been done. But he wanted to be the strong role model he pictured himself to be, and not the senior student who cried in the headmaster’s office because he didn’t get his way. “No,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Valjean said, giving him a soft smile. “Will you promise me you will exercise patience, and show compassion to your new roommate, like I know you can?”

Enjolras nodded, swallowing painfully.

Valjean rose from his chair and guided Enjolras to the doorway. “I’ll check in with you later this week, to find out how it’s going. Don’t worry, Grantaire is a nice young man.”

With that, Enjolras found himself dismissed. He walked back across the crowded quad in a trance, disbelieving that he was still stuck sharing a room with Grantaire, the boy who had made a fool of him in debate, who had nearly knocked him over because he didn’t watch where he was going, who couldn’t even dress himself properly. He returned to the dorm and went up to his room, pushing the door open and finding Grantaire had already unzipped his luggage, putting clothes away in a drawer. Enjolras narrowed his eyes, offended that Grantaire hadn’t followed his command not to unpack, even if he hadn’t been capable of overturning the room situation.

He chose not to say anything, and turned to his side of the room, taking off his shoes. Grantaire would know that nothing had changed by his silence anyway, why bother confirming it?

“So it’s Enjolras, right?”

“Yes,” he said simply, sitting on the bed and laying back, staring at the ceiling.

“Have you been at this school all four years?”

“Yes. And I initially got this room because I wanted a quiet place to myself. So understand right now, me lying here like this means I don’t want to talk.”

Grantaire fell silent, and continued unpacking his things. Enjolras watched out of the corner of his eye, wanting to make sure that Grantaire kept his belongings on his own side, and that his space was neat and orderly. He wouldn’t abide a mess in his room, and if the state of Grantaire’s uniform today had been any indication, it might become an issue he needed to monitor. When Grantaire was finished putting his clothes away and shoved his suitcase under his bed, he picked up a bag of toiletries to take into the bathroom.

“Oh,” Enjolras sat up. “Maybe… maybe you should just use the group bathroom down the hall?”

“What?” Grantaire asked, turning around wide-eyed.

“Well I mean, this was supposed to be just mine, and normally if you had been put in any other room you’d be using the group bathroom anyway.”

“What, did you already mark all your territory in there?” Grantaire asked, his brows drawn down angrily as he thumbed back at the bathroom door.

“Don’t be crass,” Enjolras said, his jaw tightening. “I was just thinking that logically, you should-”

“Use the one in here because it’s the one in our bedroom? Because that’s what I was going to say.” He opened the bathroom door and put his toiletries down pointedly. “I’m glad that’s settled,” he said as he came back out. “I knew you weren't going to be happy about me being here, but I never thought you would be like this.”

“Like what?” Enjolras said, his eyes narrowed.

“Selfish,” Grantaire said sadly after a pause.

Enjolras was caught off guard, and didn’t know how to respond. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said coldly, sitting up to put his shoes back on, and left the room once more.

Once outside, he headed to the lake, and walked slowly around it in an effort to calm himself, breathing in the fresh air to alleviate the tension he felt inside. He allowed that perhaps he had been too harsh on him. Grantaire hadn’t asked to be placed in his room. And maybe wanting to have the bathroom to himself had been a bit selfish, considering the money for the single had been given back. If he had known that this would happen, though, he would have stayed rooming with Courfeyrac. Even if he had been over-dramatic about the situation, he still didn’t _like_ Grantaire. He would just have to tolerate his presence, and try to be the responsible, compassionate, role model student that the was supposed to be.

After a lap around the lake, he headed into the Great Hall for dinner. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were already at at table with the rest of their friends, and when Enjolras sat down with them, they could tell he was much more subdued than he was at lunchtime, as he stared blankly down at his dinner. “You alright, Enj?” Combeferre asked.

“Yeah, I… I guess I don’t know what to think. I have a roommate now. It’s Grantaire.” He glanced up, looking around the room for him, but it seemed he hadn’t come to dinner.

"Really?" Combeferre asked, shocked. "But how?'

"I don't know. There wasn't any other place for him, I guess."

“Oh.” Courfeyrac sounded nearly as disappointed as he was. “So we can’t all hang out in your room then.”

“No, not anymore,” Enjolras said.

“Maybe he’ll be okay with it?”

Enjolras didn’t want to mention the trying times he had already endured with Grantaire today and only shrugged dismissively, shaking his head.

“Well, you’re always welcome to come to my room,” Combeferre said. “Joly wouldn’t mind.”

“Or mine. Marius would like that too,” Courfeyrac added.

“Thanks, guys. I’m going to try to stop feeling sorry for myself now,” he said with a guilty, half-hearted laugh. “It’s not like a school year is that long a time.”

“And at university you can live off campus and rent your own apartment, no matter what,” Combeferre said. “You’ll have the rest of your life to live on your own, if you so choose.”

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded, forcing a smile for Combeferre. “Can’t wait.”

After dinner, the boys all headed back together to their dorm, crossing the darkened lawn. “So when are we going to have our first ABC Society dinner?” Courfeyrac asked as they walked through the grass.

Enjolras laughed. “Well, I have to ask permission from the headmaster first to reserve the faculty dining room. Then I have to plan the menu with the kitchens.”

“Ooh, sounds very official. Any chance for pizza?”

“Pizza? I’m not having pizza at the first meeting, Courf, it’s a dinner club,” Enjolras protested.

“Well, you are the club president now, I just thought, you know, you might be able to give the people what they want,” Courfeyrac teased.

“I want it to be nice,” Enjolras insisted. “Something classy. A three or four course meal.”

“Are you talking about the club?” Bahorel asked, catching up to them as they headed inside.

“Yeah.”

“Can you make sure you don’t hold a meeting during football practice? I want to be able to go, and since I’m team captain now maybe we can coordinate our scheduling?”

“Of course, Bahorel. I wouldn’t want you to miss.”

“Great. Thanks, Enj,” Bahorel grinned.

They climbed the stairs together, the boys filtering into their respective rooms once they reached the fourth floor. Enjolras headed down the hall with Bahorel, and they parted ways as Bahorel unlocked  the single room directly across from his own. Enjolras watched with envy as the door shut behind him. Couldn’t the headmaster have chosen that room, instead? Although, Enjolras thought to himself as he took out his key, Bahorel was a bigger guy, and probably needed the space.

When he opened the door, he didn’t see Grantaire, but then he heard the sound of the shower behind the bathroom door. With a sigh of relief he sat down at his desk, glad to be alone in the bedroom for a bit. He took out the short-answer handout he had gotten from history class earlier that day and began to fill the paper with everything he remembered from the lecture, checking his notes as he went. The assignment was only a few questions, and he had finished the handout when he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Soon after, the door opened and Grantaire was walking out into the room clutching a white towel around his waist, as Enjolras watched from the corner of his eye.

He was surprised to find, now that he was able to study him, that Grantaire looked like a man, not just a school boy. He had noticeable stubble on his cheeks, while Enjolras couldn’t have grown any if he tried. He had hair on his chest, where Enjolras had none. And he had a dark trail leading down his belly beneath the towel, where Enjolras only had a scant amount of blonde hair. Grantaire said nothing to him, going to his drawer to look for clothes. _Why didn’t you take any with you in there?_ Enjolras thought as he watched him dig through an underwear drawer with his back to him. His body looked surprisingly athletic, something Enjolras hadn’t expected to be underneath his unkempt clothing and slouching posture. He was just studying his broad shoulders when suddenly the towel dropped, and Enjolras saw a little more than he expected as Grantaire stepped into a pair of boxer shorts, unaware that Enjolras was watching.

Enjolras quickly turned his face away, his cheeks burning up, attempting to push the image of Grantaire’s naked body out of his head. _I usually change in the bathroom,_ he wanted to say out loud, to give him the hint that he should too. Was it childish of him to ask for such a thing? He decided not to speak up, though, not wanting to let Grantaire know he had seen anything out of the ordinary.

There was silence between them the rest of the night. Grantaire, now clothed in his pajamas, sat on his bed to read one of his assignments, and Enjolras took his turn in the shower, pointedly carrying his change of clothes into the bathroom with him. When he returned he curled up in bed with his own book to read, and after some time, realizing that Grantaire had put his away and was lying staring at nothing, Enjolras decided it might as well be time for bed. He set the book on his desk and leaned over to turn off the lamp, leaving them in darkness.

He lay there with his head on the pillow, not quite tired enough to fall asleep and going over the troubling events of the day in his mind, when he heard a noise, and another, coming from the direction of Grantaire. He listened intently, suddenly alert, and heard Grantaire breathing. But he wasn’t asleep. The sound was erratic, a deep breath, and then a hitch in his throat, followed by a soft whimper. His exhalations were getting louder. Enjolras froze, eyes wide, his heart suddenly racing. Was he... he _couldn’t_ , not right there... how _dare_ he... Scandalized, Enjolras sat up in bed, about to tell him off, when he heard something else. Undoubtedly, this time he recognized the sound as a sob.

“Are you... crying, Grantaire?” he asked, his heart rate slowing as his misplaced anger subsided into bewilderment.

Grantaire sniffed from his corner and made an effort to quiet himself. Enjolras stayed sitting up, staring over at what he could see of Grantaire’s bed in the darkness. He had pulled the blankets up over his head in an attempt to stop making noise, but it seemed he was still crying underneath them. Enjolras sighed, not sure how to feel. Had he caused this? And how was he supposed to get to sleep with this going on?

He slipped out of bed and padded across the room over to Grantaire’s side. He put his hands out, feeling to make sure there was space for him, and sat on the edge of Grantaire’s bed near his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said uncertainly, watching the lump under the covers. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I wasn’t expecting you and I overreacted. I’ll try not to be that way anymore. I know it’s not your fault.”

Grantaire shifted, the blankets coming down from over his head. “Thanks, I guess,” he said in a raw voice.

Enjolras sat there uncomfortably, unsure if the conversation was over now. For good measure, he put his hand on him to comfort him, patting Grantaire’s leg awkwardly over the blankets. “It’s okay,” Enjolras said, ready to get up.

“It’s not just... I mean I’m not crying over you,” Grantaire said, trying to sound tough.

Enjolras found himself unable to go back to his own bed, not wanting to seem cold-hearted. “What is it then? Your family?” Enjolras remembered a little of what Combeferre had said at lunch.

“Yeah, that…” Grantaire said, sniffing again.

Enjolras got up from the bed and went into the bathroom, turning on the light just long enough to grab a few tissues, and then returned to Grantaire, handing them over.

Grantaire sat up, blowing his nose as Enjolras settled on the foot of the bed again. “My mom just got remarried, and she let him send me here. And they didn’t even ask me if I wanted this. Which I don’t. I didn’t want to be sent to a new school for the last god damn year." He sniffed loudly. "I didn’t know they were serious when they started pushing the brochure at me last month. I don’t understand how she let this happen. My mom and I, we never had this kind of money. So he says he can send me to some fancy school and she thinks it’s a good idea. He just wanted me out of the house to get rid of me. I barely had time to say goodbye to my friends after I realized this was really happening.” He led out a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said again. He had never been good with these types of conversations. “I wouldn’t have wanted to change schools at the last minute either.” _How had Grantaire been accepted so late?_ he wondered. The school was hard to get into and in high demand. “I mean, it’s not all that bad though,” he reasoned. “I go here voluntarily, if it was a terrible place I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have stayed all four years.”

“I know, it was just...unexpected. Unwelcome.”

“Well, at least...a school year isn’t that long a time,” Enjolras said, repeating his words from dinner.

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded, attempting to agree, though it was clear he didn’t believe it. He was probably thinking of all the things he would be missing at his old school.

“You can have fun here, too, I’m sure you’ll find some friends,” Enjolras said lamely, trying to help.

“Sure,” Grantaire replied doubtfully. “My stepdad said the same thing, trying to tell me about all the stuff he did when he went here. He doesn’t get it. I don’t belong in a place like this.”

“Wait,” Enjolras said, his brows furrowing. “Your stepdad is an alum?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly it made sense. Grantaire’s stepdad was an alumnus, who almost assuredly gave significant sums of money to the school every year. No wonder Grantaire was let in. “Then he wasn’t trying to get _rid_ of you, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, exasperated. “He probably thinks this is the best school there is. He wants you to go to a good university.”

“Great, I don’t care. I want to go home. I hate this school.”

Enjolras furrowed his brows and got up off the bed. “At least give it a chance. You’ve already decided it’s the worst thing that’s happened to you.”

“Yeah, like you did when you saw me in your room, right?”

They glared at each other in the darkness for a moment.

“I’m moving on, so should you” Enjolras replied, turning and walking back to his side of the room. “Go to bed and get over it.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said, his voice muffled as he pulled the blankets back over his head. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Enjolras grunted back as he slipped under the sheets in a huff. He lay awake for some time before he finally managed to get to sleep, all too aware of Grantaire’s presence on the other side of the room. Enjolras’s first day back at school hadn’t gone anything like he'd imagined.


	2. A Sketchy Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to any Americans like me, football here refers to European football, aka soccer.
> 
> Reminder that there is a [map of the school](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) in case you want to see the campus as you read! (Open it in a new tab)

Enjolras awoke the next morning, feeling strangely anxious and not knowing why, until he remembered his rooming situation and the argument that had taken place the night before. He turned over and sat up in bed, only to find that the bed across the room was empty. The bathroom was vacant as well, the door standing open. _Maybe he ran away, if he hates it so much,_ Enjolras thought to himself, until he realized with a glance at the clock that he was running behind schedule.

He cursed himself for forgetting to set his alarm last night, and Grantaire for not waking him, and jumped up to get ready for school with only fifteen minutes until class started. He quickly left the dorm with his schoolbag, heading to the cafeteria, when he noticed two people out in the courtyard. There was Grantaire, with the biology teacher Fauchelevent, kneeling together in the garden. Enjolras stared in confusion as he passed, until he remembered that it wasn’t just Javert that had given Grantaire detention. This must have been the other one, although serving it didn’t seem so bad. He and Monsieur Fauchelevent were planting flowers together, the teacher seeming to be in his element, while Grantaire obediently followed along. Enjolras noted he actually had on his tie today, though his blazer was thrown aside on the grass and his sleeves were rolled up as he dug in the dirt with his hands. Grantaire looked up from the flowerbed and spotted Enjolras watching him, but Enjolras quickly turned his head and hurried into the Great Hall without looking back.

He stayed just long enough to spread some jam on a croissant and down a glass of juice, before heading back out across the lawn to the academic building with pastry in hand. In the time he had been in the cafeteria, Grantaire had gone, presumably to his first class, with Fauchelevent left alone to clean up. Gardening first thing in the morning seemed pleasant enough, but Enjolras found himself wondering what sort of punishment Javert had in mind for the same violation. Somehow, Enjolras didn’t think it would be as painless as gentle old Fauchelevent's idea.

He made his way into the building, heading to the lecture hall for the Advanced Mathematics class with Monsieur Thenardier. It was no wonder it needed such a big classroom, for when he arrived, it seemed half the senior class had been assigned this morning slot. Most all of the seats we full, but he spotted Combeferre and Courfeyrac waving to him from above it all, on the top row of the lecture hall. He grinned and climbed the steps, making his way over to join them. “Hey! Thanks,” he whispered, slipping into the seat they had saved for him.

“Alright you pups, let’s get started,” Thenardier growled as he rose from the teacher’s desk down below. It was well known around the school that Thenardier was a drunk, but he was supposedly excellent at teaching easy formulas and useful shortcuts with numbers. Enjolras wasn't a mathematical person however, and if the class hadn't been a requirement he would have gladly signed up for something more to his tastes. Still, he was glad to have one class with his friends, and as he took a bite of his croissant, he saw Combeferre scribble down something on a sheet of paper and pass it over.

 _How was the first night with the new roomie?_ he wrote in his graceful cursive writing.

Enjolras considered a dismissive answer, but he realized that talking about it truthfully might make him feel better. _Not so good,_ he wrote back. _We fought, he cried. Not in that order, it wasn’t my fault. He was sobbing in bed and then we got mad at each other. I don’t even know if we’re talking right now. I barely saw him this morning._ He looked around at the other students in the class as he passed the paper back to Combeferre, wondering if Grantaire was registered in this class too, but he didn’t see him down below.

“Now, let’s say your rent costs x amount to start,” Thenardier was saying, writing an equation on the board. “But I, your landlord, decided I was going to raise your rent the amount of y per month for every month this year…” Enjolras was hardly paying attention as he finished up his breakfast.

When the note came back to him, Courfeyrac’s thick handwriting was beneath his own. _**Sobbing in bed, huh? Were you that disappointing?**_

Enjolras turned red and leaned in to glare at Courfeyrac on the other side of Combeferre, certain he was implying exactly what he thought he was implying.

 _Ignore Courf,_ Combeferre had continued below Courfeyrac’s comments. _I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you can make up with each other. If you don’t speak it’ll only get worse. Talk it out, and don’t ignore him if you can help it. You’ll be so much happier if you can learn to enjoy each other’s company._

Enjolras sighed and picked up his pen again. _I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is a point we’ll manage to get to but I’ll try. Promise._

Combeferre smiled at him when Enjolras passed him the note. “Good,” he whispered.

Courfeyrac stole the paper again. _**What did you fight about, though?**_

 _The school. He hates it here, and I was trying to defend it. He didn’t even seem that miserable in debate class yesterday, so I think he was just being dramatic._ Enjolras couldn’t write the last word without a pang of guilt. ‘Dramatic’ was the word that came to mind when he remembered himself marching down to the headmaster’s office yesterday.

 _It was only his first day,_ Combeferre wrote back. _He needs time to adjust to his new surroundings. He’ll find something to like about this place, eventually._

 _ **Maybe even you, if you’re nice!**_ Courfeyrac added.

Enjolras frowned. He _tried_ to be nice… okay, well maybe he had lost his patience too quickly, he allowed. His friends were probably well aware of what had happened. He simply nodded conclusively in their direction, and pretended to concentrate on the lesson for the rest of the period.

Next, Enjolras had English with none other than the math teacher’s wife, Madame Thenardier. He had heard she had an obsession with the romantic, so he was unsurprised when she assigned them their first book of the year, _Wuthering Heights_. After lunch, it was Comparative Religion with Father Myriel, the old retired priest who was a sweet, knowledgeable man, and someone Enjolras was quite familiar with seeing as he lived at the school too. Last and least, though, Enjolras headed to the class he had been dreading the most, more intimidated by far than he had ever been before.

He hadn’t wanted to take Art. He had zero talent on the visual spectrum, his skills were better placed in speechcraft. But there were no other electives he could choose without ruining the rest of his schedule choices, and he far preferred to keep Economics and Debate, practical classes for an aspiring Political Science major, than give them up to avoid taking one lousy art class. What compounded the problem though was this was _senior_ Art. All the other kids would have taken it since freshman year, and he would probably be the only one who had no idea what he was doing.

He left the academic building and entered the fine arts building, a place he hadn't spent much time in last year. He had enjoyed music classes as an underclassmen, but when he figured out what he wanted to study at university, he had narrowed his academic focus. Now he was returning, only to enter a classroom he had never been in before.

He stood in the doorway hesitantly, looking around. The windows and skylights kept the art room bright with daylight, much more than the dimmed classrooms in the academic building. Sketches and paintings from last year's students, too careless to take them home, were still hung up on the walls. There were easels arranged in a circle, but the students sitting around waiting for class were seated at the big tables on the other side of the room. He looked at each face, but didn't spot any of his friends, not that he was expecting anyone else to have gotten stuck in the class with him. But then he saw a mess of brown hair, a student slumped over on a table, sitting by himself. It was Grantaire.

Grantaire seemed to sense Enjolras's eyes on him, for he sat up and met his gaze, lighting up as if it was a pleasant surprise to see him, and waved for him to come over. Enjolras checked his other options, but he wasn't more than acquaintances with the rest of the art kids, and sitting with Grantaire seemed like the least awkward solution. He joined him, noticing as he slipped onto a stool across from Grantaire that each table was set with a plate of fake food. Their table had a bunch of purple grapes and some wedges of cheese on a plate, and an empty wine bottle set beside it. Enjolras stared at the objects, reiterating in his mind how unnecessary this class was to his future. “So we’re on speaking terms?” he asked, looking up at Grantaire.

“Were we not?” Grantaire cocked his head, puzzled.

“I didn't know how we left things off last night.”

“Oh, nevermind that,” Grantaire said, waving his hand dismissively. “Listen, I had an idea.”

“Hm?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was thinking-”

But Grantaire was cut off as the art teacher, Monsieur Bamatabois entered with a flourish. “Welcome back, everyone,” he said pleasantly as he inspected his class. “Except for you two,” he added, spotting Enjolras and Grantaire at the table in the corner. “You are new.”

Enjolras felt like he had as a child, when his parents had let him stay downstairs, provisionally, during a dinner party. If he was good, he could stay, and Enjolras had been so nervous, praying he appeared grown up enough to the rest of the guests. He knew he didn’t belong in this class, but he hoped he wouldn’t be sent away for having the skill level of a child. At least Grantaire was new too, and there was a chance he was feeling just as lost.

Bamatabois told them to retrieve art boards and paper from the cabinets, and drawing pencils and erasers from the drawers. “I realize some of you might be a little rusty after a summer away so I wanted you to flex your artistic muscles again with a simple still life. And that way we can see how our new students fair artistically,” he said grinning smugly in their direction. “We’ll have a brief critique at the end of class.”

“I hate still lifes,” Grantaire grumbled as they sat back down with their artboards. “I’m bad at them.”

Enjolras brightened, enjoying the commiseration. “I’m out of practice myself,” he said casually, picking up a pencil and not sure where to start. “What... what are you going to draw first?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. The bottle looks easiest but with the grapes you can probably manage to hide your mistakes, since they’re more complicated.”

“Ah,” Enjolras said knowingly, although he still didn’t know what to do.

“Looks like I’m doing the plate,” Grantaire said as if it was a surprise to himself as he started drawing, his arm moving in wide circles with his pencil.

Enjolras wished he could spy on him, but they were sitting across the table from each other and had opposite views of the still life anyway. “So what was your idea you were going to tell me?” Enjolras asked.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, pausing mid-pencil stroke. “These detentions got me thinking. An easy solution really. I’ll just keep doing things and getting more and more until they kick me out for poor behavior,” he said with a smile. “That way I can go home and you can have your room to yourself again.”

Enjolras stared wide-eyed, the brief camaraderie he had with Grantaire melting away. “That’s _absurd._ ”

“What? I thought it would suit you. It solves both our problems.”

“Yes, but... but you can’t just become one of the bad kids because you want to go home! That’s ridiculous.”

Grantaire looked down again, returning to his drawing. “I mean I wouldn’t necessarily have to become a bad person. I could just stop going to class or something, that could work. I bet you know some expulsion stories, what kind of stuff gets you expelled?”

Enjolras sighed in exasperation. He knew some gossip about the kids who had been previously expelled, certainly, but he wasn’t about to give Grantaire hints. “Look, if Montparnasse and his gang are still going to school here then it isn’t easy to get yourself kicked out. If you don’t go to class, someone comes into your room and checks in on you. They’ll take you to the nurse if you feign sickness so don’t try that either. And they’ll call your parents long before they expel you so don’t think you can get away with some drawn out scheme.”

“Speaking of which,” Grantaire said. “You’re not drawing.”

Enjolras deflated a little, looking at his blank paper. Anything he did was going to ruin it. He slowly put his pencil to the page and drew a squishy circle, deciding what Grantaire had said about the grapes hiding mistakes was helpful. Maybe he could disguise his poor talent by drawing a bunch of circles in a big cluster. That was all it was, right?

“You know,” Grantaire spoke up again. “I’m kind of surprised you’re so against the idea, considering your little speech yesterday.”

Enjolras straightened, his brow furrowing. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Your anarchy proposal. Letting students make decisions and do what they think is best for them.”

“I was not proposing _anarchy_ , didn’t you listen at all?” Enjolras hissed. “You twisted my words! ”

“No, you failed to realize that’s what you were proposing,” Grantaire said carelessly. “Fantasy is not the same as reality.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this again? You’re the one who wants to decide ‘what’s best for you’ so why are you acting like my idea was stupid? Which, by the way, my plan had nothing to do with students getting as many detentions as they want.”

“What would you do with a student who didn’t want to be here, then? Would you make them stay?”

“Uh, erm, well… no, but... ideally, students who didn’t want to be at the school wouldn’t be.”

“Exactly. Ideally. That’s what I said yesterday. Your plan is idealistic. Not realistic.”

“Just shut _up_ about it already,” Enjolras snapped. “It’s not a _real_ proposal, it was debate class. And whatever, I don’t care. Do whatever you want. Get kicked out. Just don’t do any of it in my room.”

“Our room.”

“Oh yeah, and don’t spend the night crying again,” Enjolras couldn’t help but add, glaring at him. “I was trying to sleep.”

Grantaire’s eyes flashed with anger, and Enjolras could tell he had struck a nerve. But instead of making a reply, Grantaire’s mouth tightened and he looked back down to his drawing, scribbling determinedly on his paper in silence.

Enjolras set his face in an expression of indifference and returned to his drawing, but in his mind he couldn’t help but remember the note Combeferre had written that morning. _If you don’t speak it’ll only get worse. Talk it out._ It seemed too late for that now, especially considering he hadn’t made much effort to be nice, like he had promised. But he also hadn’t expected Grantaire’s ridiculous plan for expulsion, which only proved to him how he couldn’t possibly get along with someone like him. _And why should I stop him anyway? I’ll be alone again if he succeeds,_ he reminded himself. But somehow, he felt compelled to stand up against such a poor life decision. An expulsion on permanent record from a school like Corinthe, right before university applications, would be any student’s worst nightmare.

Enjolras concentrated on his drawing for the remainder of class, struggling through the still life as he scratched lines onto his paper. He kept looking up at the display on the table, biting his lip and hoping that somehow his hand would somehow magically recreate what his eyes were seeing. But he could only manage a shaky line drawing, certain that he had drawn the wine bottle far smaller than it should be, and the grapes too big for the plate.

With twenty minutes until the end of the period, Bamatabois rose from his desk and pointed to the wall. “Hang up your drawings and we’ll see where we are.”

They all stood up, and Enjolras watched in dismay as the other students put up their work. As he expected, they were far better than the chicken scratch he had managed on his paper, and he kept his own drawing held to his chest, wondering if he could abstain from the critique.

And then, Grantaire passed by him and pinned his drawing to the wall, and Enjolras stared, his heart skipping a beat as he stood there in shock, before easing right into anger. Grantaire had the best still life in the class by far, which was surprising in the first place, but not the part that angered him. Grantaire had apparently gotten bored with the food and moved on to drawing Enjolras sitting across the table from him, and what he had made was none too flattering. He had rendered in fine detail Enjolras sitting there like an idiot, biting his lip and looking lost. Out of context, it even looked like he was staring at the food like a helpless puppy, waiting for someone to permit him to eat. A small dialogue balloon over his head read “help!”, as if Grantaire knew from the other side of the table that Enjolras had been desperately struggling to draw.

Enjolras turned bright red, and he clutched his own drawing tight in his hands, crumpling it.

“Oh my!” Bamatabois said with excitement as he came over and saw Grantaire’s standing out among the others. “How fun.” He then noticed Enjolras standing there frozen, paper in hand. “No, no, they must all go up!” he insisted.

Enjolras swallowed his pride and walked to the board, pinning the wrinkled paper under the others in resignation. As he turned to join the crowd again, he saw the teacher’s grim expression and the smirks the other students were exchanging.

“Let's… start over here, shall we?” Bamatabois suggested, pointing to one of the other student’s pieces on the opposite end. Enjolras sullenly stared at the floor as the class went over each piece, the teacher commenting about crosshatching and tone and other terms that meant little to him. When he reached Grantaire's, he praised him for creativity, skill, and speed.

“I prefer drawing figures, really,” Grantaire said with what was surely false modesty. “I took life drawing classes back at home.”

“Oh how nice, perhaps in the coming semester we will concentrate on the figure. One thing though,” Bamatabois said, pointing to the little dialogue balloon Grantaire had made. “This piece would be better without this sort of joking around. More serious next time, yes?”

“Sorry,” Grantaire said, smirking as he lowered his head. Enjolras hated him.

“Now…” Bamatabois stared down at Enjolras's paper, seeming unsure what to say. Finally, he turned to him. “Enjolras, was it? …Are you sure you want to be in this class?”

Enjolras's heart sank. He had never felt so incapable before. “No, I _don't_ want to be in this class,” he said defiantly. “This was the only class I could take during this time and make the rest of my schedule work, the only class that I hadn't taken before, that wasn't another section of something I'm already taking at another time, and wasn't full when I signed up. I'm not an artist and I've never taken an art class, and I don't know how to do any of this.” He stared determinedly at Bamatabois, almost hoping he would use his teacher’s clout to put him in some other course, somehow.

But Bamatabois simply grew annoyed, tilting his head at Enjolras’s response. “I see. Well, perhaps more effort next time instead of all this attitude,” he said, gesturing to Enjolras’s posture.

Enjolras's mouth dropped open in disbelief. He _had_ made an effort.

“Now, your work is clearly a product of your lack of confidence. Look at these lines. Nervous, they're _nervous_ , I'm nervous just looking at them. And I feel as if you were not even looking at what you were drawing.”

“I was!” Enjolras protested.

“Does this look like what's on the table?” Bamatabois asked impatiently.

“No, but-”

“The grapes are not this shape. You drew what you think of when you are told the word ‘grapes,’ you did not arrange them as they are.”

Enjolras was confused. _They're just grapes,_ he thought desperately. _Why does it matter so much?_

“And this cheese. It is two-dimensional on your paper.”

_It’s a drawing, of course it's two-dimensional!_

“You drew a square. It is a _wedge._ You can see more than one side of it, can't you?” Bamatabois continued irritably, as if Enjolras had drawn badly on purpose. “I trust your depth perception is functioning correctly.”

“I-”

“The bottom of your bottle is a flat line. The bottle is round, a cylinder. Did you pass geometry class?”

“I did,” Enjolras said, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“And this-”

“Excuse me, sir,” Grantaire piped up, interrupting Bamatabois. “Perhaps Enjolras’s intent was to create modern art.” Half the class snickered behind him. “He was going for an abstract interpretation. The lack of perspective represents the flat, distorted nature of our reality. The shaky lines are meant to create a feeling of unease that we students feel everyday, oppressed by academia.”

The whole class was laughing now, and Enjolras was fuming, tears stinging his eyes as they formed. The bell rang, and he didn't wait to be dismissed. He broke from the group, grabbing his bag and running from the room. Instead of heading for the front entrance of the fine arts building, he went out the back, wanting to be alone where no one would see him. Outside behind the fine arts building was the big stone amphitheater, and Enjolras ran up the steps, selecting a row in the sun and collapsing in a huff. He sniffled, wiping his cheeks, still burning with embarrassment. He had never felt like an incompetent student before, and it felt horrible. Even moreso when he realized what would happen to his grade point average, and he cried more at the thought. This one class could ruin him, could ruin his chances of graduating with high honors. This year was already turning out worse than he ever could have imagined, and being a senior was supposed to be-

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard footsteps on the concrete. He looked up and saw Grantaire ascending the stairs towards him. “No!” Enjolras shouted. “Go away!” He picked up his schoolbag and threw it at him. It missed, tumbling uselessly down a few stairs. Grantaire stopped and picked it up, continuing towards him much to Enjolras's displeasure. “You didn't have to humiliate me in front of everyone,” he spat.

Grantaire moved to stand in the amphitheater row in front of him, setting the bag down on Enjolras's bench. “That was not my intention.”

“Oh sure,” Enjolras said sarcastically, turning his face away to hide his tears as he wiped at his cheeks again. “I'm mad at you and you’re mad at me, I get it.”

“No, I was trying to help you. I didn't mean for them to laugh.”

“Did I ask for your help!?” Enjolras asked incredulously.

“That critique was uncalled for considering your skill level,” Grantaire said, seeming sincerely upset. “But I think that's how you're going to have to approach the class. Anyone can do abstract art. Really.”

“And what about your picture?” Enjolras glared at him. “Why did you have to draw me like that?”

“Like what?” Grantaire shrugged. “That's what you looked like.”

“I did not! I don't… I don't look like that. And I didn't say you could draw me. That wasn't the assignment. It’s… _weird._ ”

“Okay, well first, you did and do look like that, whatever majestic perception you have of yourself. And secondly, artists don't need permission. They just draw what they see.”

“Yeah and I don't suppose you saw any stupid words to put above my head right there too, huh?” Enjolras gestured in the air above himself.

“Well fine, I was mad at you.” Grantaire crossed his arms defensively.

“Ha.”

“But I didn't draw you any differently. You were a nervous wreck and now I know why. I could tutor you, you know,” he offered.

“Never!” Enjolras gasped, scandalized. He wasn't a kid that needed tutoring. He was the kind of student that should be tutoring others. “And I don't want to see you anymore than I have to.”

“You wouldn't. We live together. It could be at night.”

“You're getting yourself expelled, remember?” Enjolras grumbled sullenly.

“Oh, well,” Grantaire said uncertainly. “I don't know how or when. Or if.” He looked around as if he was finally noticing where he had followed Enjolras. “This is a nice place. Very Greek. Do you do plays here?”

“Not _me_ , but yes.” Enjolras said, reaching for his bag. “Shakespeare and whatever.”

“Considering the population of this school, I bet it’s pretty authentic. Boys in dresses, I assume?” Grantaire said with a grin.

“Usually Montparnasse,” Enjolras said dismissively as he stood up. “I’m leaving now.”

“I... I can go do something else. If you want time alone in the room.” Grantaire followed him down the steps.

“I’m not going to the room. Tryouts for the football team are tonight.”

“You’re... an athlete?” Grantaire asked, his tone full of doubt.

“No,” Enjolras answered testily. “I’m going to watch and support my friends. Some of them are trying out and my other friend Bahorel is the team captain. He’s the one who lives across the hall from us.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Is that something that interests you?” Enjolras asked with false politeness, noticing that Grantaire seemed to be following him towards the athletic field.

“Nah, football isn’t my physical activity of choice. I’m much better with my hands.”

Enjolras shot him a look, unsure what he meant. He was so used to Courfeyrac’s dirty jokes he could have been hearing things that weren’t there. “Well… good, then I’ll be seeing you. Back at the room. You can go now,” Enjolras said with finality. Grantaire stopped in his tracks at the implication and Enjolras hurried on ahead to the field alone, looking back over his shoulder once to see Grantaire staring confusedly at him like a dog he had commanded to stay behind.

“Just leave me alone,” Enjolras whispered to himself. He disappeared behind the gym, heading over to the field where everyone was gathering. Half his friends were out on the grass, and half in the stands. He gladly went to sit down beside Combeferre as the hopefuls warmed up on the field. “I’m so happy to see you,” Enjolras said with relief as he joined him.

“Oh,” Combeferre smiled, but then frowned. “Are you alright? Your eyes are all red and puffy-”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said quickly with a distracted smile. “What do you think, is Courf gonna make it?”

“Maybe,” Combeferre said, still curious as to what Enjolras was hiding, but he appeared to let it slide. “Feuilly for sure, I think, given he was goalie last year. Bossuet’s a toss up. And Joly…” He gave a pained smile.

“Oh, who let Joly out on the field?” Enjolras asked pityingly, searching around for him. He was sitting on the grass stretching.

“He wanted to try, bless his heart.”

Enjolras spotted Courfeyrac, kicking a ball back and forth with Bossuet. Feuilly was pulling on his goalie gloves. Enjolras also saw the two larger members of Patron-Minette, Gueulemer and Brujon, standing out on the field and sure enough Montparnasse, Claquesous, and Babet were in the stands below to cheer them on. “Do you think Bahorel would let those jerks in?” Enjolras asked as he pointed the two goons out.

“If they play well,” Combeferre said neutrally. “If they play fair.”

“Doubtful. I didn’t even know they cared about sports.”

“Neither did I.”

Bahorel came out of the gym then, striding out onto the athletic field with a clipboard and already wearing the team jersey, blowing on a whistle to call order. Montparnasse clapped excitedly. “Yay! Go... team, or whatever,” he said, clearly pretending to care.

“They’re not a team yet, you prat!” Enjolras called to him. “You do know this isn’t a game right?”

Montparnasse looked back over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “... _Yes,_ ” he said after too long a pause.

“I know what it is,” Combeferre suddenly leaned in to whisper. “Courfeyrac mentioned Montparnasse has a crush. He told those idiots to join the team so he’d have an excuse to come watch Bahorel.”

Enjolras and Combeferre both snorted, dissolving into laughter. Montparnasse, although he hadn’t heard, continued to glare before tossing his head and staring determinedly out at the field.

“Doesn’t he know we all hate him, even Bahorel?” Enjolras asked, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Well, all the more reason to try to be subtle, I suppose. Speaking of, um, awkward situations, did you get a chance to make up with Grantaire?”

“I hate him,” Enjolras said flatly. “He’s horrible. It doesn’t matter anyway, he said he’s going to get himself kicked out so why should I care?”

“What?”

“Yeah. I don’t know either. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to think about him.” He looked over at Combeferre’s concerned expression. “Look, we can talk about it later. Just not now. I want time away from him and that includes talking about him or thinking about him. Everything that’s going wrong so far has been his fault. Let’s just... pretend he doesn’t exist for a bit.”

“...O-okay, Enj,” Combeferre agreed slowly, seeming uncertain. “It’s alright. Let’s cheer Courfeyrac on, yeah?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I want to do,” Enjolras nodded. “Go Courf!” he yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth as the boys on the field lined up to show Bahorel their footwork.

Tryouts were nothing short of a fiasco. Fifteen minutes in, Joly had either an asthma attack or a panic attack, no one was quite sure, and had to be escorted away to the nurse. The two goons from Patron-Minette purposefully tripped the other players, shoving aside anyone that was smaller than them to get at the ball, while Montparnasse stared at Bahorel or studied his fingernails, with no intention of watching his friends play. Bossuet got hit in the head with a ball after a mighty kick from a freshman, though he somehow headed the ball into the goal in the process before falling over. Courfeyrac however, showed off how quickly he could dart around the field, and ended up scoring two goals before Feuilly had a chance to save the ball.

At the end of tryouts, Bahorel lined them all up again, going down the line and making his selection. It was no surprise that Courfeyrac made the team after his impressive performance, and Enjolras and Combeferre jumped up to applaud him, along with Bossuet who actually made it despite his injury, and Feuilly who would be returning to the team once more. Unsurprisingly, Bahorel chose not to enlist the boys from Patron-Minette, and Montparnasse stared at them in disbelief as they came off the field. “Did you even _try?_ ” he asked them in annoyance, and Enjolras couldn’t help but smirk. Montparnasse hadn’t been watching, he truly didn’t know.

The players began to dissipate, the disappointed students wandering off, Montparnasse abandoning his friends to tail Bahorel into the locker room. Enjolras and Combeferre ran down to the field to congratulate Courfeyrac in a tight group hug, and for that brief moment Enjolras was completely happy again, having managed to forget all about Grantaire and the art class in his excitement.

They walked as a trio into the gym, passing through it so Courfeyrac could grab his bag from the locker room before they headed to the Great Hall for dinner. As they waited for Courfeyrac, Enjolras heard something echoing in the quiet. Odd noises. Heavy breathing. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, following it to a nearby open doorway, a boxing studio, and peered inside. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw Grantaire, shirtless in a pair of gym shorts, striking a punching bag with his fists. His knuckles were wrapped in bandages like a fighter, and it seemed as if he really could throw a hard punch. And he was angry, his face red, guttural sounds coming from his throat as lashed out. He was half turned away, unaware that Enjolras was there watching him. _Are you imagining that punching bag is me?_ Enjolras wondered, frightened at the thought, although he felt something else, something strange he couldn’t quite name as he saw Grantaire’s body so tightly wound up for the attack, as he heard Grantaire's breathless panting, as he noticed his large hands flexing before he curled them into fists again before each punch. Suddenly Enjolras was afraid of Grantaire, and the way he was making him feel right then.

“Got it! Enjolras, get back here!” Courfeyrac called from down the hallway, and Grantaire turned at the voice. Enjolras didn’t have time to get out of the way before Grantaire saw him there in the doorway, but their eyes only barely met before he fled back to his waiting friends.

“You alright?” Combeferre asked, holding the gym door open for him.

“Of course,” Enjolras said, though his happiness had ebbed away, the sight of Grantaire and the fear that he felt completely distracting his thoughts.

At dinner, he sat quiet and contemplative, realizing now that Grantaire saying _I’m better with my hands_ hadn't been a dirty joke after all. It clearly wasn’t his first time doing something like that, and Enjolras was left wondering what else Grantaire was capable of. Was he possibly dangerous?

“Hey, Enj,” Courfeyrac asked as he was working his way through a plate of mashed potatoes. “Did you pick a night for the club meeting?”

“Hm? Oh. How about...Friday?” Enjolras asked carelessly, embarrassed to admit he hadn't been thinking about the ABC Society at all. He looked to Bahorel. “No football practice then, right?”

“Nope, that's just fine,” Bahorel said.

“Friday would be wonderful,” Courfeyrac added.

“Great. I’ll see if I can arrange it tonight so I don’t forget.”

After dinner, he headed alone to the headmaster’s office again, hoping Valjean would still be there so he could ask permission for the meeting. He found him working alone, the receptionist already gone for the evening and the door ajar. Enjolras peeked in and gently knocked, Valjean looking up at the sound. “Why hello, Enjolras. A pleasant surprise to see you again so soon.”

Enjolras turned red, being reminded of his complaint yesterday, but stepped forward to the desk. “Same to you, Headmaster,” he said respectfully.

“How are you and Monsieur Grantaire faring?”

Enjolras’s mouth tightened, wondering if he should be honest, but using his most polite voice, he decided to change the subject. “Headmaster, I actually came for another reason.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to ask permission for the ABC Society to use the faculty dining room on Friday.” The teachers hardly ever ate dinner on campus, especially not on the weekend.

“Of course,” Valjean said, opening his drawer and taking out a permission form for Enjolras to take to the kitchen staff. “How have your new classes been going?” he asked as he signed his name.

Enjolras hesitated for a moment. “Sir, i-is there still not any way I can take something else besides Art?” he asked. Valjean was well aware of the matter, Enjolras had made a fuss about it last spring after registration.

“Enjolras,” Valjean chided. “You know I can’t allow you to retake a course you’ve already passed with flying colors, and unless you’re willing to change the rest of your schedule, that is the only class that’s currently available to you in that afternoon time period.”

Enjolras knew it wasn’t going to work, but he still felt as if his hopes were crushed anew. “The class was terrible,” he admitted.

“I’m curious, Enjolras, are you afraid of what is new? Subjects you haven’t tried before?” Enjolras opened his mouth to answer, but Valjean continued, “...People you don’t know?”

“No,” he insisted, even though he had felt afraid of Grantaire only an hour ago. “It’s just that it’s the last year of school and it’s a little late for this. I’m not an artist and never will be.”

“You have the whole year ahead of you. I’ve never seen you balk at a challenge before.”

 _A challenge?_ he thought, suddenly indignant at the suggestion that he was a coward.

Valjean took note of his silence. “I think that you should attend a little more than one class before you decide you’re giving up. Alright?” he asked as he handed over the signed permission form.

Enjolras nodded guiltily.

“And I hear Grantaire is quite an artist. Perhaps living with him will help.”

“Where did you hear that?” Enjolras asked suspiciously, worried that the Headmaster already knew what had happened in Art that day.

“His family,” Valjean said simply, and Enjolras let out a breath of relief. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, looking down at the floor, clasping the permission form in his hands.

“Alright then, run along.”

Enjolras headed to the door but Valjean stopped him once more. “Oh, and Enjolras?”

He turned on his heel in the doorway. “Yes?”

“It’s difficult to make friends, when you’re the only student who is new. I think it would a good idea for you to invite Monsieur Grantaire to your dinner on Friday.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “H-headmaster,” he started to protest. “I can’t just let someone like him…” but he trailed off as Valjean’s expression turned less than sympathetic. _But you don’t know what he said, his ridiculous plan for expulsion, the way he feels about the school._ “He doesn’t like Corinthe,” he said weakly.

“And how would you feel about a new school, if you were sent to one tomorrow?”

Enjolras froze, wondering if that was simply a comparison, or a threat. _He’s just making a point, right?_ “I wouldn’t like it at all, sir,” he said slowly.

“I didn’t think so. Now I trust you remember what I said to you yesterday? That I expect you to be kind and welcoming, and help him?”

Enjolras simply nodded.

“I’m glad. Now you are dismissed.”

Enjolras left in silence, feeling desperate for the fresh air as he left the administration building. Had he accidentally ended up on Valjean’s bad side? If so, it was yet another thing that was all Grantaire’s fault. And now he was supposed to invite him into the ABC Society, just like that. What was he going to ruin next?

When he returned to the dorms, he stopped halfway down the hall, seeing Combeferre’s door was ajar. Courfeyrac had come to visit Combeferre and Joly in their room, and all three of them lit up to see Enjolras with the permission form. “Friday,” Enjolras said with a tentative smile, not about to admit how his visit to the office had gone.

“Can’t wait!” Courfeyrac said happily.

“Me neither,” Enjolras said, trying to feel enthusiastic again. “How it’s going, Joly?” he asked. The last time he had seen Joly he was being taken off the football field to the nurse. “You alright?”

“Oh yeah. Tryouts were fun,” he said with a genuine smile.

“O-oh really?” Enjolras asked, puzzled, and Combeferre made an amused shrug behind Joly’s back. “Well that’s….good.” He gazed around the room, realizing that Combeferre and Joly had decked out their room, making it essentially a science nerd’s dream. There were anatomical posters and a periodic table on the walls, a framed shadow box of pinned butterflies and moths over Combeferre’s bed, a collection of miniature potted plants lining the window sill, a chart of the stars on the ceiling above them. “Wow,” he said gazing upward. “You guys went all out. This is great.”

“Thanks,” Combeferre said. “I love it in here.”

“Me too,” Joly said.

“Me too!” Courfeyrac added as he stood up. “But I’ve got to get back to my room. I need to do some homework before bed.”

“So do I,” Enjolras said with reluctance, knowing it was time for him to go back to his room, and presumably Grantaire. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Goodnight!” Combeferre called as Enjolras left their room.

He headed down to the end of the hall, opening the door to find Grantaire lying on his bed, his face hidden by a copy of _Wuthering Heights_. He didn’t acknowledge Enjolras coming in, or even stir. Enjolras set down his schoolbag, slipping the permission form into it for later, and had a look at the bare walls of their room. If he’d had the room to himself as planned, he would have liked to put up pictures of his favorite historical icons all around, and maybe a French flag pinned over his bed. But now, decorating his half of the room might let Grantaire think it was okay for him to hang up whatever he wanted too, and Enjolras wasn't interested in finding out whatever that would be.

He looked over at him again, wondering if his silence, and the anger he had seen at the gym was about what he said to Grantaire, or if it was more of Grantaire’s anti-school angst. Whatever the reason, he was glad for quiet as he sat down at his desk to complete a worksheet for Economics due the next morning. When he had finished, he headed into the bathroom for a shower.

The day had completely drained him emotionally, and as he stood under the hot water it relieved him, soothing the tension inside him as it poured down his naked back. He closed his eyes, enjoying this small space of isolation, echoing with the sounds of the water. He breathed the hot air in deeply, and it wasn’t too long before he realized, to his surprise, his body was responding.

 _Oh_ , he thought, looking down past the clouds of steam, finding it odd that he had become aroused so unexpectedly. Especially considering right on the other side of the shower wall was Grantaire lying in his bed. _Should I remedy this? But_ _I couldn't possibly..._ He froze for a moment, his heart beating quickly as he stood there indecisively. But, he decided, he deserved some relief after the stress of the school day, and knew he would feel better all over if he went ahead and took care of this.

Despite the guilt he felt with his roommate so close by, he allowed himself to tentatively reach down between his legs, grasping his cock gently in hand to stroke it. There was something a little exciting even, in doing something so secretive behind the wall that lay between them. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself, his other hand getting a firmer grasp, and he leaned his forehead on the tile as the water continued to pour down his back. He knew how to be quiet, but he couldn’t help the soft sighs that escaped his throat as he ran his hand over his cock, his hips moving fluidly with each stroke. His breathing grew more shallow, more frequent, and as the sound echoed around him, he suddenly remembered, against his will, the sound of Grantaire panting earlier in the gym, short and fast and angry. And how his bare shoulders glistened with sweat, the muscles tense and ready to strike. And the way his bandaged hands looked in their tight fists before he stretched his slender fingers, flexing them outward. And what would happen if he-

Enjolras grabbed the knob of the shower and turned it quickly to freezing cold, horrified. The water chilled him straight to the bone and he hugged himself, shivering until he was sure that all feeling from the waist down had gone away. Then he turned the water off, breathing in the damp silence. Why had he thought of Grantaire? Did he secretly enjoy making Grantaire angry enough to punch something? Did he revel in this mutual hatred? _No,_ he told himself. He was miserable. There was nothing enjoyable about any of this. The only reason why he had thought of Grantaire was because he was  _right there_ on the other side of the wall, and he couldn't get away from him. Grantaire _was_ ruining everything, even his most private moments.

After he had calmed himself and dried off, he wrapped himself up in his pajamas and emerged from the bathroom, trying not to blush as he breezed past Grantaire’s side of the room and climbed into bed. Once comfortable under the covers, he casually picked up his book for French Literature and found the place he had left off last night.

Then, Grantaire spoke up softly. “What are you reading?”

Enjolras brought the book down an inch and looked over at Grantaire, who had stopped reading and was simply lying in his bed. Enjolras narrowed his eyes at him, face flushed, wondering if there was any possible way he had heard his panting, if he knew what had just gone on in the bathroom. The water had surely drowned out his breathing, but Grantaire’s bed was so awfully, unsettlingly close to the shower on the other side. Grantaire wasn’t smirking though, or smiling, or looking any wiser. “Notre-Dame de Paris,” Enjolras answered finally.

“What class is that for?”

“French Literature.”

“Oh,” Grantaire nodded, looking politely thoughtful. “I’m not taking that. I’m in Classics. You know, the Greek stuff. We’ve been assigned The Iliad.”

“I took that last year,” Enjolras answered shortly.

“Oh. Okay.” Grantaire paused, then, “I liked that book.”

“Notre-Dame?”

“Yeah. I read it last summer. It was really sad, but good. I’m not sure I’m a fan of Hugo’s later work though. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t seem to get through it, for some reason.”

Enjolras almost smiled in commiseration, but he settled on twitching his mouth in an attempt. “Same,” he admitted.

“I’m going to sleep,” Grantaire told him, winding up the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him.

“Alright. I’m going to read for awhile.”

“That’s fine.” Grantaire turned off the lamp near him and pulled the blanket over himself, curling up to face the wall.

Enjolras relaxed against his pillow, relieved that Grantaire hadn't seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary at all. But he grew curious when another thought came to mind. “Grantaire?”

“Mm.”

“Have you served your detention with Javert yet?”

“No. That’s tomorrow after debate.”

“Oh. Well good luck to you, then.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.”

"Goodnight." Satisfied, Enjolras turned back to his book. It wasn't until Grantaire had fallen asleep a few minutes later though, that the blush finally left Enjolras's cheeks.

 


	3. An Exclusive Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, here's the link to [the campus map.](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) (Open it in a new tab.)

Enjolras and Grantaire awoke the next morning to the sound of the alarm clock. They both jumped out of bed, but Grantaire headed into the bathroom before Enjolras could claim it first, much to his annoyance. He tentatively laid out his uniform, wondering if there was time to change his clothes before Grantaire came back into the room, not wanting to be caught in the middle of dropping his pants. As it turned out, he did have time, and then some to spare. Enjolras grew tired of waiting his turn, and went over to bang on the bathroom door. “Hurry up in there!” he said, reminding Grantaire of his presence.

Grantaire opened the door, and Enjolras was taken aback for a second before he recognized that he was looking at Grantaire with shaving cream all over his jaw. “Sorry,” he said, gesturing for Enjolras to come in with him. “We can both use the sink, I guess.”

Enjolras watched him shave as he brushed his teeth beside Grantaire. He had yet to shave his own face at all. His cheeks were still as smooth as a boy’s, even as a senior. At this point he wasn't sure he would ever grow his own stubble.

Grantaire noticed in the mirror that Enjolras was eyeing him. “What?”

“No, nothing,” Enjolras said, averting his eyes upward. Was it envy or just plain curiosity that made him want to watch?

Enjolras was ready for school before Grantaire, slinging his bag over his shoulder while Grantaire was getting his shirt on. He couldn't help but think of him shirtless in the gym again, as Grantaire buttoned his shirt up, his bare chest disappearing from sight. “...Are you a boxer?” Enjolras asked, speaking up in the silence. There was no point in pretending he hadn’t seen him yesterday, when they both knew he had.

“I know a thing or two,” Grantaire said casually, tucking the shirt into his pants. “My mom signed me up for lessons at home when I was, uh, getting unruly. But I like it. It's therapeutic.”

“I can imagine,” Enjolras said solemnly, turning to leave. “Don't forget your tie today. Can't show up to your detention with the same violation.”

“Oh, but wouldn't that be a great way to get more detentions?” Grantaire smiled in amusement. “Could be my ticket out of here.”

“Don't be stupid,” Enjolras snapped. “You have no idea what sort of punishment it is yet. Use your head.” He waited in the doorway until he saw Grantaire reach guiltily for his tie, then turned and left for the Great Hall.

Now that Enjolras had been through all his classes, he knew what to expect from them. He had all his homework completed, and his morning classes, Economics and History, were actually enjoyable. He didn't even have Grantaire on his mind again, with Grantaire sitting somewhere off by himself at breakfast and lunch, until their last period debate class. Enjolras went out of his way not to sit anywhere near Montparnasse this time, but as he sat down at a new desk, Grantaire slid into the seat beside him.

Luckily, this time Javert did not ask them to face off against each other. He expressed disappointment in the class’s ability as a whole, and handed out a paper outlining the structure of a proper debate, and the names and goals of each argument. Enjolras sat in his seat indignantly, affronted to be included in the sweeping generalization of the class’s poor performance. He knew all about the art and science of debate, and sat listening to Javert’s lecture with his arms crossed defensively.

They were about two-thirds of the way through the class when Enjolras heard scribbling from the desk beside him. He turned his head and saw Grantaire drawing on the back of the piece of paper that Javert had handed out. He was drawing some sort of man holding a skull, and his pencil was scraping back and forth on the paper as he shaded the clothes black. _How gothic of you, Grantaire,_ he thought, rolling his eyes, but as he turned back he was shocked to find Javert standing right in front of his desk.

“Are you bored, Enjolras? Am I not capable of holding your attention? Do you already know everything I am capable of teaching you?”

“N-no! I’m listening!” Enjolras protested. He pointed at Grantaire angrily. “I'm not the one who-”

Javert didn't even turn away from Enjolras as his hand slammed down on Grantaire’s desk. Grantaire yelped in shock, watching as Javert closed his fist over the drawing and crumpled it in a ball. “I am aware. That doesn't mean you shouldn't have your eyes forward where they belong.” He finally looked to Grantaire, as if he were an afterthought. “I'll be seeing you after class anyway,” he said dismissively, walking off with Grantaire's balled up paper and throwing it in the garbage bin. Grantaire slouched further down in his chair with a sigh, and Enjolras managed to throw him a glare while Javert still had his back turned. His chance at redeeming himself to Javert was slipping further away, and it was once again Grantaire's fault for making him look bad.

After class, the students began to file out, and Javert made for the door as well. “You stay here,” he warned Grantaire. “I'll be back shortly.”

As Enjolras was packing his notebook in his bag, Grantaire slithered out of his desk and retrieved his drawing from the trash can. “Don't draw in class,” Enjolras reprimanded. “This isn't Art.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Grantaire said, unbothered as he attempted to straighten the paper out again.

Enjolras bristled at the nickname. “I'm not saying that for your sake, I'm saying it for mine! Don't distract me.”

“I know, I'm sorry I'm so much more interesting.”

Enjolras snorted. “Don't flatter yourself. And aren't you a little old for childish cartoons?”

“What are you talking about?” Grantaire asked, showing him the drawing of the man with the skull. “It's Hamlet,” he explained, turning the paper over to show him the text on the other side. What Enjolras had mistaken for Javert's handout was a flyer from the theater department. It advertised that Hamlet would be the fall play, and auditions were to be held tomorrow at the amphitheater. “I thought it sounded fun,” Grantaire said. “I’d like to be in it.”

Enjolras smirked with relish. “Now don't be selfish, Grantaire. Once you ditch the school and go back home, who's going to take over for your part?”

Grantaire’s face fell, his eyes vacant for a moment, before he nodded. He crumpled the paper back up into a ball. “You're right,” he said defeatedly, throwing the flyer and his drawing back into the trash. “It was a stupid thought anyway.”

Enjolras watched with a sinking feeling. What had he just done? Valjean had asked him to help Grantaire assimilate, and he had just encouraged him _not_ to. He opened his mouth to take back his words, but at that moment Javert came back in. “What are you still doing here?” he barked at Enjolras. “Out.”

Enjolras shouldered his bag and slunk away, leaving Grantaire to his fate, though as he did so he managed to nab the ruined flyer from the garbage.

As he walked back to the dorm through the courtyard, he unfolded it and looked at Grantaire's drawing. He really was talented, even when he was just doodling in class. The sketched prince had a brooding, thoughtful expression in his dark-ringed eyes, and it reminded Enjolras of the other side of Grantaire. The side that was sad, even angry, beneath all the joking and sarcasm. He frowned at the picture, wondering how Grantaire was faring in detention back at the debate classroom. When he got back to their room, he gently laid the wrinkled drawing on Grantaire's bed, smoothing it out again with a twinge of regret, before sitting down at his desk to attend to his homework.

At dinner, Enjolras's friends were all excited about the play. Marius and Jehan wanted to audition, arguing playfully over what role suited them best. “Couldn't you just see me as a leading man?” Marius asked.

“Maybe if it were Romeo and Juliet,” Jehan chided. “I don't see you as a Hamlet.”

Marius flung a slice of carrot in his direction. “Oh yea? And you think you'd be any better?”

Jehan ignored the invading carrot on his dinner tray “I'd like to be the villain. Claudius,” he said importantly.

“Ha, you don't even look old enough to be Hamlet, let alone Hamlet’s uncle.”

“No one does!”

“Ophelia suits you.”

“Oh shut up,” Jehan said, finally throwing the carrot back at Marius.

“Romeo really does suit _you_ , Marius,” Enjolras said with a grin. “Seen Cosette recently?” Marius blushed and stared down at his dinner. His crush on the headmaster’s daughter was well known, and he always jumped at the rare opportunity to get a glimpse of her when she came down to the school to see her father.

“I wish I could watch the auditions,” Courfeyrac said with a sigh, resting his chin on his hand. “Football practice.”

“Wellll,” Bahorel considered playfully. “I _suppose_ since everyone supported the team yesterday, we could go support our theater brethren…”

“Yes, oh please!” Courfeyrac looked to him with puppy eyes. “I can't miss an opportunity to see my Marius flail around on stage.”

Enjolras smiled. “We’ll all go,” he said, trying to fight down the guilt he felt over telling Grantaire not to audition. And where was he? He looked around the cafeteria, but there was no sign of him. Was he still in detention? It had been almost three hours now.

Enjolras didn't see Grantaire until he trudged back into their bedroom an hour after dinner. He looked exhausted, and as he made for his bed, he paused, noticing the drawing Enjolras had laid there. He sighed and brushed it away onto the floor, before flopping down onto the blankets.

“What did you have to do?” Enjolras asked tentatively, watching him from his desk chair.

“Lines. For _four_ hours,” he said, his voice half muffled by the pillow.

“That's not... _too_ bad," Enjolras reasoned, trying to make light of it. "I thought it would be w-”

“On the _blackboard_. I can't even feel my arm anymore,” he said, attempting to move his hand only to have it flop on the bed again. “I'm lucky I had some muscle to begin with or I might have died trying. Two hours of ‘I will dress properly for class’ and two hours of ‘I will pay attention in class.’ When I filled up the board I had to erase it and start over. The dining hall was practically closed when I got there. The cooks at least took pity on me and gave me something to eat.”

Enjolras was silent for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to feel sorry for him. “Well, have we learned our lesson?” he finally asked.

“I've decided I might agree with that point you made in your stupid debate speech,” Grantaire replied with a sigh, turning his head from the pillow to speak more clearly. “Arbitrary punishment. How can one teacher’s detention be so much worse than the other for the same thing?”

“I love Corinthe but there are things that need improvement,” Enjolras said, his mouth tightening. He didn't feel any satisfaction at the fact that Grantaire was finally conceding his argument had merit. “What did Javert do that whole time?”

“He sat there watching me to make sure I didn't stop and sit around. I was allowed to use the bathroom for two minutes between phrase one and phrase two. Nice of him, right?” he huffed bitterly.

Enjolras frowned, realizing it was worse than he originally thought. Grantaire had lost four hours of homework time, and the use of his writing hand. “What do you have left due tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don't care,” Grantaire said, turning and curling up on his side away from Enjolras. “Will they send me home if I just refuse to move?”

Enjolras heaved a sigh, remembering Valjean's words, and got up from his desk, rescuing the Hamlet flyer from the floor and going over to Grantaire’s bed. He climbed up over him, bare feet on the blankets, and sat down beside him, leaning against the wall “I think... you should try out for the play tomorrow,” he said slowly, holding out the paper so that Grantaire could see it.

“Mmph,” Grantaire grunted, averting his eyes.

“Look here, it's right out in the amphitheater after art class. It won't be out of your way. _I'm_ going.”

“You?” Grantaire asked, finally turning his head to acknowledge him, and then smirked. “I should have guessed you'd have a flair for the dramatic.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, his brows drawing down. “No, I… I'm not auditioning,” he said, affronted. “I'm going to watch.”

“Oh. Don't you do any after school stuff? I thought you'd be a busybody.”

“Student council, when it starts up again.”

“Oh. You're not the class president, are you?” Grantaire asked, raising his brow.

Enjolras was sure Grantaire was implying doubts about his leadership abilities, but he ignored his tone. “There isn't one. We're a committee. Juniors and seniors. Sadly I think it's just a vanity title. We don't have much power.”

“Like most student councils,” Grantaire smirked. “Like I said, they're not going to let a bunch of teenage boys have the run of the place.”

“They should at least give us more say. Maybe then you wouldn't have had a four hour detention just now.”

Grantaire scowled. “Well, tell your council Javert needs to go.”

“Trust me, many students have said it before you.” He paused, and then smiled conspiratorially. “There's a rumor he knows something about Valjean and that's why he's still here. That he's holding something over his head. But... it's nonsense. Everyone still takes his debate class anyway. I don’t think it’s so bad unless you get in trouble. So don't get in any more trouble. And leave me out of it, too,” he added sternly, remembering class. “Look, are you going to take this from me or not?” He shook the flyer at him.

Grantaire finally took the paper, gazing at his drawing with a soft expression. “How come you want me to audition? I thought you said not to?”

“I…” Enjolras preferred not to say what he had already discussed with the headmaster, about how he was meant to behave around Grantaire. “Everyone says things they don’t really mean. I think you should try out for it if you want to.”

“Even if-”

“Even if you still want to leave. If you took a small part maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to have someone step in.”

“Ah, yeah… I suppose that’s true,” he said, laying the drawing facedown on the bed. “Thanks.” He looked up at Enjolras, reaching out and gently touching his leg. “For saying so.”

Enjolras nodded, looking down distractedly at the fingers just barely touching his thigh. Grantaire was looking for comfort, he could tell. He patted Grantaire’s hand, awkwardly, uncertain how he felt about allowing the touch. He still wasn’t planning on being Grantaire’s friend, exactly, and he didn’t want to give him any ideas. Besides, Grantaire's touch made him feel just as odd as when he had seen him boxing in the gym. “I thought you couldn’t move your arm,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“It’s this one,” Grantaire said, wiggling the fingers of his other hand, limp on the bed. Even so, he retracted the hand resting on Enjolras’s leg.

Enjolras exhaled in relief as he watched his fingers leave his thigh. “Y-you’re left-handed?”

“Like many artists,” Grantaire said dismissively.

Enjolras frowned, remembering he had to attend Art tomorrow. “Maybe that’s why I’m no good.”

Grantaire laughed. “There are plenty of right-handed artists.”

“I’m not one of them.” He sighed and got up, climbing back over Grantaire to return to his desk.

“Don't worry,” Grantaire said behind him. “You just have to pretend like your work means something and you'll be fine. Just like any other class.”

Enjolras grimaced. That wasn't at all how he treated other classes, but he supposed he could try to make it work in Art.

But when last period came around the next day, he found it was just as hard as he had suspected. “I have decided we will follow Monsieur Grantaire's lead from last class and work on our figures. Consider today a warm up for our upcoming project, because next week we will be working on your senior self portrait paintings,” Monsieur Bamatabois announced.

Enjolras frowned, he hadn't been anticipating such a project. How could he be expected to paint if he couldn't even draw?

“Ah, and here's our model now,” Bamatabois said with a flourish. Enjolras's economics teacher, Madame Fantine, emerged from behind a dressing screen, wearing an embarrassed blush and a ridiculous red dress surely nabbed from the drama department.

“Monsieur, I don't think it fits,” she tried to explain. Enjolras had a feeling Bamatabois had booked his model on short notice.

“Nonsense, you're simply ravishing,” Bamatabois said, leading her over to the model platform. “Now, step up here, Madame. Everyone, prepare your art boards with newsprint, get some charcoal, and find an easel. Remember to remove your blazers and roll up your sleeves, I don't want the laundry staff to come to me complaining.”

Enjolras did as he was told, laying his blazer aside and setting his board up at an easel. Grantaire soon chose one not too far from his own. Enjolras glanced over, wary that Grantaire had gotten him in trouble last time he was next to him in class. But that was Debate, and this was Art, and the same drawing infraction wasn't an infraction in this class.

Grantaire noticed him looking and pantomimed being unable to raise his left hand to the easel, considering last night’s detention, making a show of frowning pitifully and attempting to lift his stick of charcoal. Enjolras suddenly had a fluttering hope he wouldn't be the worst artist today, but as Fantine assumed her first pose, Grantaire snapped out of his theatrics and started drawing in studious concentration.

Enjolras wilted gloomily, looking at his blank paper and the piece of charcoal dirtying his fingers. He didn't think he could do Madame Fantine justice any better than he had been able to with a simple bunch of grapes. He had barely brought his charcoal up to make an uncertain line across his page when she suddenly changed poses. “Wait, what?” he asked out loud, perplexed.

“These are thirty-second gestures,” Grantaire leaned over to explain.

“What?” Enjolras repeated in dismay. “I have to draw her in thirty seconds!?”

“Well, like this,” he said showing him his board. Grantaire had already drawn a lovely minimalist figure with flowing strokes, there was even a face too. Enjolras didn't think he could achieve that in an entire class period, let alone thirty seconds. “Just try it,” Grantaire encouraged. “Be loose.” He lifted his hand to the page and started drawing Fantine again, barely even looking at the drawing.

Enjolras stared at his own page, still with just the sad single stroke down it. Grimly, he reached to draw over it and again she was changing into a new pose, her arms encircling her body and her face tipped forlornly. He was determined this time to get something down, and he started drawing her eyes, two rounded diamonds with circles inside… then the gentle slope of a nose, and a darkened set of lips… and then the pose was over.

Grantaire peeked over to see what Enjolras had done and laughed at the tiny floating face in the middle of his paper. Enjolras shot him a hurt look. “Here,” Grantaire said, his amusement unchanging. He came over and turned to the next page in Enjolras's pad of newsprint, then moved to stand behind him, a hand on his shoulder. His other hand went to Enjolras's right hand, lifting it to the page and making him draw a quick, loose circle at the upper center of the page, moving his wrist. “Do you feel that?” he said softly in his ear. “You should draw with your whole arm, not just your hand.”

Enjolras did feel it, along with Grantaire's blackened fingers on the back of his hand, squeezing him tightly as he guided him. Enjolras held his breath, all too aware of the touch, and how Grantaire’s own paper stood abandoned on the easel. “Grantaire, I don't think you should be-”

“Nonsense, it's better to show you how it's done,” Grantaire said, interrupting. He had him draw an angled line beneath the circle, Enjolras realizing that the circle and line together created a head. “And this,” Grantaire continued in a soft whisper, having him draw a curving cross inside it, “is how you show where her face is. See, this is where her eyes are. That’s all you need right now.”

Enjolras watched in a trance as Grantaire moved their joined hands across the page, having him press the charcoal to the paper to sketch out two willowy thick lines to indicate the arms, then a gentle curving stroke to make the breasts and waist. _That's my teacher,_ he thought in embarrassment. Grantaire didn't seem bothered, though Enjolras had a feeling Grantaire wasn't taking Economics. He wouldn't have the same reservations.

He was helping him draw the bell shape of the dress when Fantine changed positions. Enjolras was shocked thirty seconds had lasted even that long this time. It felt like an eternity since Grantaire had taken hold of his hand. Grantaire didn't falter, simply flipping over Enjolras's paper. “Again, faster,” he commanded, guiding him to draw a circle once more.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras chided nervously, not entirely certain why he felt worked up. Perhaps it was the control Grantaire had over his body at that moment, forcing him to draw in a way that was not his own and making him feel not altogether himself.

“What's going on over here?” Bamatabois demanded, coming up behind them.

Grantaire dropped Enjolras's hand, stepping back. “I was just-” he started to explain.

“Enjolras, we don't have other students do our work for us,” Bamatabois tutted in annoyance.

“I didn't ask him to!” Enjolras protested, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the rest of the class and even Fantine were all looking curiously in their direction at the outburst. “It was Grantaire's idea. I didn't even say I wanted help,” he said, glaring at Grantaire accusingly.

“ _Someone_ needs to teach him the right way to do it,” Grantaire said simply.

“Oh, are you an art teacher?” Bamatabois asked sarcastically.

“Yes,” Grantaire replied without humor. “I taught children over the summer. And I can tutor Enjolras.”

“I told you, I don't need-” Enjolras began to say, but Bamatabois cut him off, continuing to address Grantaire.

“You may do what you like in your own time, but not in this class. Go back to your own work,” he warned. “You have talent. I don't want you wasting your time like this.”

Enjolras grimaced. Even though he knew Grantaire shouldn't have been helping, he felt a pinprick of hurt at Bamatabois’s phrasing. As if teaching Enjolras wasn’t worth the time. Sure, he thought art of his own making _was_ a waste of his time, but a teacher thinking him incapable was hard to stand. He clenched his jaw as Bamatabois told him to get back to work, this time without inconveniencing the other students.

 _It wasn't my doing,_ Enjolras thought darkly, though as he lifted charcoal to paper once more, he started with the loose, flowing circle Grantaire had shown him. He noticed then the black fingerprints on the back of his hand, Grantaire having left his mark on the skin. It has been Grantaire's right hand, his non-dominant, guiding him. _He's good with his hands,_ he thought. _Both of them._ He stared for a moment, realization dawning as his eyes traveled from there to where Grantaire's other hand, his left, had rested on his shoulder. Charcoal smudges were all over his previously immaculate white shirt. _”Grantaire!!”_ he hissed angrily, glaring sternly and pointing out the mess. Grantaire bared his teeth in a guilty smile, shrugging his shoulders, and returned his attention back to his own easel.

Enjolras found the rest of the class confusing, frustrating, and an unhappy experience on the whole, but still… the one trick that Grantaire had managed to show him did seem to help. Out of all the students though, only Enjolras was assigned outside work, in an effort to make him learn the basics. He took his handout with an embarrassed blush, already knowing it was a futile venture. He would never catch up. “And Enjolras,” Bamatabois lectured on his way out, “make sure the work you turn in on Monday is your own.”

Enjolras was in a remarkably bad mood as he headed outside to the amphitheater, his blazer thrown over his clean shoulder to make sure it didn't touch the charcoal on the other side. He realized latently that Grantaire was tailing behind him. “Stop getting me in trouble,” he growled, throwing a glare back at him. “Did you hear Bamatabois just now? He was practically accusing me already. Thinks I'm going to cheat.”

“Showing you how to draw isn't cheating,” Grantaire said in confusion. “He's cheating you, if he's not going to teach you himself.”

Enjolras had a feeling the teacher’s attitude may have sprung from him mentioning he didn't want to take Art on the first day of class. Still, Grantaire was at fault for the rest. “And you've made a mess of my shirt,” he grumbled.

“I'll help you,” Grantaire insisted. “With your art homework.”

“He already said it had to be my _own,_ ” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes.

“I won't touch your hands. Just give advice.”

“You've helped enough,” Enjolras said, pushing open the door leading outside into the sunlight. Still, his thoughts lingered on the memory of Grantaire's hand on his own, controlling and guiding him. He felt his blush returning. “Don't sit with me,” he said hastily, gesturing at the empty amphitheater where the Hamlet auditions were soon to take place. “I'm waiting for my friends.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said tonelessly, sitting down in the front row, the nearest seat. Enjolras went up the stairs to the top tier, reserving the area for his friends. There was an awkward moment where it was just the two of them, sitting apart and staring at the empty stage, but shortly after, other boys started to gather for the auditions, and the two instructors Madame Favourite and Madame Zephine arrived. Favourite was the drama teacher, Zephine the music teacher, and together they ran the after school theater activities.

Combeferre was the first of the ABC Society to arrive, coming from the science building. “What's this?” Combeferre asked, pointing out Enjolras’s shirt where the black handprints were imprinted on his shoulder.

“It's nothing,” Enjolras said quickly, turning his shoulder. “Just art class, you know.”

“Feeling more creative?” Combeferre asked optimistically.

Enjolras slowly smiled, painfully insincere, but he didn't want to talk about it. “...Yes.”

“Oh, I'm glad to hear it.”

Soon the rest of Enjolras's friends had all gathered in the top rows, and Patron-Minette had come as well, to support Montparnasse and Claquesous, who managed to make appearances in most all of the plays since they had started school at Corinthe. Various groups of underclassmen were in attendance for the auditions too, including a clump of nervous freshmen.

Favourite and Zephine took the stage at the stroke of the hour, chiming out on the library clock tower across campus. “Welcome to the auditions for Hamlet,” Favourite said with a smile. “We're pleased to see so many of you who would like to participate in our fall play.” Enjolras knew that half the kids were there simply to watch the auditions for the entertainment value, and the schadenfreude. “If this is your first audition, remember to relax,” she continued. “And if you would like some help getting into character, you are welcome to try on some of the costumes we have available.” She pointed to a set of trunks laid out on the grass at the side of the stage. “But please be careful, not everyone will fit into them. Now come up here and take a script, and pick a passage to read for us. Take your time looking it over and remember, you may get a part entirely different than the character you read for. That's how theater goes.” She laughed lightly and smiled at the boys in her audience.

Grantaire, being in the front row, was the first to pick up a script from the pile at the front of the stage. Marius and Jehan made their way down to the scripts, along with Joly, who at the last minute decided his calling might be found in theater, rather than football. “I keep asking if he wants to start a science club together,” Combeferre said, adjusting his glasses as they watched Joly trail down the stairs. “If he doesn't get into the play, I'll convince him.”

Soon, the amphitheater was filled with a cacophony of voices, a steady stream of babble as students practiced reciting passages in their seats. Marius was paging through his script, looking for the perfect passage to read for Hamlet. Zephine stood up on the stage, giving an overview of the characters, but she could barely be heard over the many voices practicing lines.

Finally, the first volunteers began to creep up out of their seats, signing up on a clipboard to start reading on stage. A few headed towards the costume trunks, including Montparnasse and Claquesous. Jehan, who was familiar enough with the play, was already down there donning a crown and a cape. An over-confident freshman ended up taking the stage first, stumbling his way through Hamlet’s ‘to be or not to be’ speech to the snickering of his friends and the pained sidelong glances of all the seniors present.

Jehan was the first of their friends to ascend the stage and deliver a passage as Claudius. He read his lines with passion and his friends broke out into wild applause as he finished with a flourish, taking off his crown as he swept into a bow. Later, after several other contenders, Marius found a prop skull and went for the ‘alas, poor Yorick,’ passage from the graveyard. Marius was nervous at first, but then grew more confident, and Enjolras thought he made quite the decent prince by the end of his speech.

Montparnasse, having disappeared into the fine arts building with a costume bundled up in his arms, finally emerged again wearing a flowing white dress with no uniform to speak of underneath. There were excited whispers from the audience, especially from the freshman, who weren't expecting such a sight. Courfeyrac put his fingers to his lips and blew out a shrill whistle. Montparnasse, turning his head to glare up at Courfeyrac and instead seeing Bahorel sitting next to him, struck a reluctant pose in character, lifting his skirt coquettishly to show off a bare ankle. He turned to let Claquesous tie up the back laces of his dress, then read for Ophelia, ignoring the scattered, immature laughter from the younger students.

Grantaire elected to go dead last in the audition process. Enjolras wasn't even sure he was going to try out, for it wasn't until Favourite and Zephine were making a last call that he jumped up as if it were a casual decision. Perhaps Grantaire had been deciding all that time, assessing his student competition. He donned a black tunic over his white shirt, and Enjolras noted he hadn't even fully washed the charcoal off his hands from art class. At some point he must have wiped at his eyes, for there were traces of dark smudges theatrically smeared under them. _No,_ Enjolras realized, remembering the haunted expression in the eyes of Grantaire's drawing of Hamlet. _It's purposeful._

Grantaire took the stage. He barely needed to look at his script as he spoke, the words taken from the scene where Hamlet laments how the new king had betrayed him, taking his father's place beside his mother. There was hurt in Grantaire's eyes, and Enjolras realized he was seeing shades of the same Grantaire in the boxing room at the gym, a glimpse of the anger deep inside him. _He's not just acting,_ Enjolras thought, _he feels betrayed by his own family._ Hamlet’s mother had remarried, and soon he would be sent away by his new stepfather, too. Enjolras hoped the similarities between Grantaire's and Hamlet’s families ended there

The students were unusually quiet during Grantaire's audition, as if those who didn't know Grantaire's story could still sense something was wrong with him. When he finished, Favourite and Zephine stood up and joined him on the stage to gently usher him off with smiles. “My, that was…quite stirring,” Favourite said with an audible breath of relief. “If that's the last one, let's hear it for all our auditioners. Everyone did so well!” She and Zephine led the students in a round of applause, then reminded everyone the cast list would be posted on Monday, in the fine arts building and the Great Hall.

“Monday?” Marius asked in despair. “I have to worry about this all weekend?”

Courfeyrac threw an arm around him. “Trust me, you'll practically have forgotten all about it by then. Just think about the mountain of homework we have to do this weekend!” he said cheerily as Marius wilted further.

“Don't think of that,” Enjolras chided as they headed out of the amphitheater towards the dining hall. “Think about our ABC dinner tomorrow night. Seniors only,” he grinned.

That brightened Marius's spirits. “Oh yeah? What are we having?”

“I'll let it be a surprise. But I did put in the order with the kitchens at lunch today. It'll be great…” He trailed off as he noticed Grantaire heading off by himself to the gym instead of dinner, and Enjolras had an idea of what he might be going there to do. He thought of Grantaire, shedding his uniform for a pair of shorts, body tense and sweating… and shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Enjolras disappeared into the Great Hall with his friends.

Enjolras arrived back at the dorm before Grantaire, and he felt an odd sense of anticipation waiting for him to return. He ignored it, though it was hard not to think of him as Enjolras took off his charcoal-smudged shirt, stuffing it guiltily into his laundry bag. He was halfway through his homework when Grantaire returned in a white tank top and gym shorts, his skin flushed and his hair damp.

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, but he paused as Grantaire dropped his bag and ran his hands through his hair, the sight somehow distracting. “Um…” Enjolras said out loud, trying to find his words again. “Did you at least get dinner?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said with a dismissive sigh. “The kitchen staff must recognize me now. Second time in a row I've come at closing. They hadn't put everything away yet, so it was fine.”

“You shouldn't do that,” Enjolras chided. “They need to go home. You can go to the gym anytime.”

Grantaire frowned. “You're right,” he conceded, his hands going to the hem of his tank top. He pulled it off and over his head, and Enjolras could see a sheen of sweat on his bare skin in the dim light of their dorm room.

“Are you going to take a shower?” Enjolras asked needlessly.

“Yeah. Why?” Grantaire asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“I was just...wondering if you were going first,” Enjolras said, shaking his head in confusion. He wasn't sure why he had asked. “You did well. In the audition.”

Grantaire twitched his mouth as if he wanted to smile but then let out a mirthless laugh instead. He was embarrassed. “I think I took it a little too seriously.”

“Hamlet is serious,” Enjolras reasoned. “Some people weren't taking it seriously at all.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded. “Thanks, then.” He turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Later that night, when the lights were off and they were both curled up in their beds, Enjolras wondered if Grantaire really had done well in the audition. If he would be cast in the play, if he would end up sticking around at Corinthe to see it through. But then his thoughts wandered as he remembered that the ABC Society dinner was tomorrow, and he smiled to himself, and eventually fell asleep.

The next day, he could hardly wait until school was over. He found himself doodling a seating chart in his afternoon French Literature class as they discussed Quasimodo’s childhood in the latest chapters of _Notre-Dame de Paris_. Combeferre and Courfeyrac would be on his right and left, respectively of course, at the head of the table, but where to put everyone else? Not that it mattered but it was a nice diversion to pass the time.

In his last class of the day, Javert gave them a surprise test on the debate terms he had discussed during the lecture on Wednesday. Enjolras, already an expert when it came to debate vocabulary, knew all the answers and flew through the test with ease. Afterward, Javert spent the rest of the class period going over famous debates throughout history, and warning them that their first real semester project would be starting up next week. There were five minutes left until the bell, when Enjolras, sitting by the windows, noticed a movement in the bright sunlight outside. He glanced down to the ground below and saw Courfeyrac and Combeferre, released early from class, giddy and waving up at him from the sidewalk. Enjolras smiled and gave a tentative wave back, a subtle movement of his fingers.

Not subtle enough. “Enjolras!” Javert barked.

Enjolras quickly turned his head back to the front of the room. “Yes, sir,” he answered quickly.

“I'll ask your mind not to leave the classroom while your body is still in it,” Javert said gruffly. “This is the second time this week you haven't been paying attention.” He glanced down at Enjolras’s desk. “What is this?” he said, reaching for the ABC seating chart sitting on top of Enjolras's open notebook.

“Nothing!” Enjolras quickly shut the notebook before Javert could snatch the paper away. “It's nothing, it's from my previous class. I wasn't even looking at it.”

Javert's mouth grew thin. “Then why do you have it _out?_ ” he growled, even more incensed he had been denied the right to inspect Enjolras's things

“I'm sorry, sir,” Enjolras said quickly, clutching the notebook with tight hands. “I won't do it again.” He met Javert's gaze unblinkingly.

Javert stared back, and then decided it wasn't worth prolonging the matter, turning back to the classroom. He finally concluded the lesson, warning them that their topics and partners for the upcoming project would be assigned to them, and to be prepared for whatever and whoever they were landed with.

Enjolras let out a breath of relief as they were dismissed, quickly scooping up his notebook and bag and hurrying out of the classroom before Javert could have the chance to ask him to stay behind. Montparnasse caught up with him in the hallway. “Tell me Enjolras, what's the _opposite_ of a teacher’s pet, hm? What shall we call you?”

“Shut up, Parnasse,” Enjolras said without sparing him a glance.

“What was it you were hiding? Writing a letter to your secret crush?” he teased.

“I'm not the one with a secret crush, Parnasse,” Enjolras said pointedly. “It's a shame that Bahorel can't stand you just like the rest of us.”

Suddenly Montparnasse was no longer walking beside him, and looking back, Enjolras saw that he was standing there with wide eyes and reddened cheeks. Enjolras turned and headed out of the building with a smirk, his conscience battling between satisfaction and guilt at how clearly his comment had stung Montparnasse. _He deserves it,_ he told himself.

As he was walking back to the dorm through the courtyard, Grantaire caught up with him. “Javert’s a bit of a prick, isn't he?,” he said conversationally in greeting.

Enjolras sighed. “If you hadn't-”

“Oh _please_ ,” Grantaire loudly interrupted. “I can't wait to hear how what happened in there was my fault _this_ time.”

Enjolras pursed his lips, half in annoyance and half in amusement at Grantaire's challenge. “If you hadn't caused the first two problems, Javert wouldn't have such a poor impression of me,” he said primly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Do you think that interaction would have ended any differently if it were the first time?”

Enjolras shrugged. “One strike is better than three.”

“Two,” Grantaire corrected. “You didn't get in trouble the first class, you were just laughed at.”

Enjolras curled his lip. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“No problem,” said Grantaire with satisfaction.

Enjolras said nothing more to him as they reached the dorm and went up to their room. They set their schoolbags down on their beds, and Enjolras began to ponder what he would wear that night to the dinner.

“So what do people do here for fun?” Grantaire asked “It's Friday night.”

Enjolras thought about it. “Uh... There's usually groups hanging out in the courtyard, or in the library. Some go and play football on the field. There's a few rowboats for the lake but you're not supposed to be out on it after dark. And you can't swim in it. But there's the pool in the gym that's open until ten.” He took a breath, then added guardedly, “Clubs often have meetings on Friday nights, too. The club fair will probably be sometime next week, and you can find something to join, if you like.”

“Sure.” Grantaire began to untie his tie. “Well, what are you going to do tonight?”

“Dinner,” Enjolras said innocently. It wasn't a lie.

“Oh. Alright.” Grantaire sat down on his bed, looking uncertain what to do with his free time.

“And… there’s a bus to town on Saturdays. I'll be going,” Enjolras relented to tell him. “Student outing, that kind of thing.”

“So it's not entirely prison here, then,” Grantaire said, with a soft smile.

“No. It's not prison,” Enjolras said tightly.

Grantaire took off his shoes and settled on his bed to rest, and Enjolras started picking through his clothes, deciding on an outfit. Red was a requirement of course. He shed his blazer and tie, and found his red v-neck sweater. Then he grabbed a pair of black pants to swap out for the grey ones he wore everyday for his uniform. He was about to change into them right there, considering Grantaire changed in the room unabashedly everyday, but at the last second Enjolras shied and quickly disappeared into the bathroom before unfastening his pants.

“You look nice,” Grantaire commented idly from his bed, when Enjolras emerged from the bathroom.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, feeling an unexpected blush heat up his cheeks. Then he sat down on his bed to wait, opening his copy of _Wuthering Heights_ to keep himself occupied.

At seven, it was almost time. Grantaire was still in the room, sitting up on his bed to draw in a sketchbook. Courfeyrac and Combeferre knocked on the door, and Enjolras hopped up excitedly to open it. Courfeyrac was wearing a red ascot tied around his neck, Combeferre a red beret. “Ready?” Combeferre asked.

“Absolutely,” Enjolras grinned.

Grantaire looked up, noticing how they were dressed. “Aren't you just going to the cafeteria?” he asked, puzzled.

“We have a club meeting,” Courfeyrac explained.

“Oh. What club?” Grantaire asked, cocking his head.

“...The ABC Society,” Enjolras said slowly. “But you wouldn't want to-” He paused, realization dawning. He remembered, with a small dose of horror, that Valjean had requested he include Grantaire. There would be trouble for him if Valjean found out he didn't. He clenched his jaw in a reluctant smile and rephrased his words in a new tone, forcibly polite. “You wouldn't want to join us, would you?”

“Enj?” Courfeyrac asked in amused bewilderment. One couldn't just invite another student to an ABC dinner, it wasn't how things were done.

Enjolras gave him a sharp look of warning, then back to Grantaire.

“S-sure,” Grantaire said, accepting with a hint of confusion. He hadn't missed the look that Enjolras and Courfeyrac had exchanged.

If Combeferre was bothered, he didn't show it. “You have to wear something red,” he explained.

Grantaire picked up his uniform tie hanging on the side of his bed, blue and red striped.

“That doesn't count,” Enjolras said impatiently.

Grantaire put it down, biting his lip, then went to his drawers, digging inside. He presented to them a pair of red plaid pajama pants.

“No,” Enjolras snapped simply. Courfeyrac tsked with impatience.

“I don't think I have anything else red,” Grantaire admitted.

Enjolras sighed. He wasn't about to give him any of his clothing, Grantaire was clearly of a broader size.

“Wait, I know!” Grantaire went to his desk, opening the drawer where he apparently kept a stash of art supplies. He picked up a new tube of red paint.

“No!” Enjolras said in a panic. “Stop, whatever you're about to do!” His hand was held to his chest, scandalized. “You can borrow my scarf.” He didn't want to lend it out, but that was far preferable to whatever barbaric plan Grantaire had in mind.

Grantaire mimed swiping his cheeks to indicate he would paint them as if he were going to a football game. He looked at Enjolras questioningly.

“No,” Enjolras repeated firmly. He went to his drawers and pulled out his scarlet scarf, going over to Grantaire to fussily drape it around his neck and shoulders. “Don't get anything on it,” he warned. “It's important to me. And put your blazer back on. There's no time for you to change into something better.” Grantaire would be the only one still in his uniform, but it would have to do.

“Aye, captain,” Grantaire said, putting his blazer and his shoes back on. He followed them out the door, where they met up with Bahorel coming out of his room across the hall. He was wearing a red button-up shirt.

“Heading over?” Bahorel asked with a grin. “And you too?” he added, as he noticed Grantaire behind them.

Grantaire shrugged. “I don't really know what's happening,” he admitted.

Enjolras sighed in exasperation as he led them down the hall.

“Joly,” Combeferre called, rapping on the door of their bedroom as they passed by, and Joly hurried out, wearing a red vest buttoned over his white shirt.

The six of them headed out of the dorm and across the courtyard to the Great Hall. Grantaire made for the cafeteria as they entered the building, but Enjolras gestured impatiently for him to follow as they walked past it entirely. He led them through a set of double doors that opened to a sitting room full of fancy high-backed chairs facing a stone fireplace. They cut through this room into the next, where an elegant dining table was laid with fine china, linen napkins, and silver table service. Ice water was poured in crystal goblets, glistening with condensation. There were more place settings than they needed, twelve in total, which was lucky considering Grantaire was an addition he had forgotten when he informed the kitchen of the dinner.

Enjolras made his way to the head of the table, pulling the cushioned chair out. Courfeyrac would be on his left, Combeferre would be on his-

He stopped as he looked to his right and saw Grantaire pulling out the chair. “Don't sit there,” he said bluntly.

“I usually sit at the corner,” Grantaire explained. “I'm left handed, I don't want to bump elbows with anyone.”

“Well, then sit over there,” Enjolras said, pointing to the corner diagonally across from them. “This is where Combeferre-”

“Don't worry, Enj. I'll sit here,” Combeferre said, sitting on the other side of Joly, who had taken the seat by Grantaire. Combeferre was halfway down the table.

Enjolras forced a smile. “Fine.” This derailed his whole seating chart. Not that he planned to enforce it exactly, but he had put careful thought into it all during literature class. Grantaire hadn't been on the chart at all. Now he was throwing off the entire arrangement. Bahorel sat down next to Courfeyrac, although Enjolras had meant for Marius to sit there. He sighed and gave up worrying about it, leaving the table to sort itself out as the rest of the senior ABC members trailed in and took their seats.

Once everyone had arrived, Enjolras rose and went through the swinging wooden door that led directly into the kitchen. He let the staff know it was time to begin, and that there would be only ten attending that night. He returned to the dining room, standing beside his chair and picking up his glass.

“I'd like to welcome you all to the first meeting of the ABC Society of senior year. I hope you all had a good first week,” he said, realizing as he said it his voice was strained. His own first week hadn't gone so smoothly. “And I assure you our ABC underclassmen will be joining us next time. But I wanted to do something special for us senior members, considering we've been together for nearly four years, and it's thanks to this club that we've become such close friends.”

“Who's that?” Bossuet interrupted, looking at Grantaire in puzzlement.

Enjolras's smile faltered, lowering his glass and giving Grantaire a brief glance before looking down the table again. “This is my roommate. Grantaire.” Bossuet would have heard about Grantaire by now, even if he couldn't place the face. “He's visiting,” Enjolras said significantly, to assure them he hadn't simply let Grantaire in, just like that. None of them knew this was Valjean’s intervention.

“Oh,” Bossuet whispered, along with a few nods of acceptance from the others.

“...So,” Enjolras started again, derailed. “Um. Enjoy your dinner,” he concluded, feeling stupid. Even so, the other boys raised their glasses in unison, save for Grantaire who latently picked his up after everyone else had toasted and simply drank from it with a shrug. Enjolras slipped into his seat with a sigh, putting down his glass.

“So what is this?” Grantaire asked, as the room began to fill with the murmur of conversation, while they waited for their food.

“What is what?” Enjolras asked tersely.

“The ABC Society.”

“A dinner club,” he said importantly. “It’s considered quite an honor to be a member.”

“I see…” Grantaire said, his tone suggesting he didn't see at all. “A club for eating dinner.”

“That's not…” Enjolras sighed. “First of all your grades have to be good enough to be considered for acceptance.” He gazed significantly at Grantaire, wondering if his grades would even qualify. If they did, his attitude towards the school certainly disqualified him anyway. “Secondly, you should be an exemplary student who shares the same heart and vision as the rest of the society. That is, you plan to make this world a better place when you graduate. There's an interview process.” Enjolras, finally the president, would be making the decisions this year for the new recruits.

“An interview process,” Grantaire repeated. “To sit at your table here.”

Enjolras flushed. Grantaire was mocking him. “Some students just want to take advantage of the food. They don't care about what it means to be a free-thinker. Besides, we get to enjoy networking benefits that can only be found here.”

“Networking?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “With... each other?”

“No, not…” Enjolras growled in frustration. “School speakers are often invited to join the ABC Society for dinner to have private question and answer sessions regarding career advice and opportunities. It's invaluable.”

“Ah,” Grantaire nodded.

Just then, the kitchen door swung open and the first course was brought out, crocks of onion soup for each boy, sealed with melted Gruyere cheese, and baskets of fresh bread to accompany them. Grantaire brightened as he dug into his soup, looking far less concerned about what exactly the club was for anymore.

They made their way through each course, discussing the first week’s classes over an oil and vinegar green salad, and football tryouts over rosemary lamb and mashed potatoes with brown gravy. Enjolras carefully avoided questions about his art classes from Courfeyrac, and thankfully Grantaire didn't volunteer any information. It seemed Grantaire was merely observing it all, keeping to himself and listening to the rest. Once, as they were waiting on the dessert course, Enjolras turned his head to find Grantaire's nose and chin were nestled in the red scarf around his neck, as if he were cold. Or more likely, bored.

“So Marius,” Courfeyrac asked from across the table as he spooned into a molten chocolate cake. “Will this be the year you finally approach the Headmaster’s daughter?”

Marius blushed. There was chocolate on his face already. “I.. .I couldn't,” he stammered. “Valjean's always with her whenever she's around.”

“Are you scared of Valjean?” Enjolras asked with a smile, despite the fact that he might have been a little intimidated by him on their last meeting.

“No! Well, I mean, yes,” Marius admitted, hanging his head as the boys giggled.

“Ah, the hazards of falling in love,” Courfeyrac said with relish. “Bahorel, you know all about that, right?”

“What?” he replied, surprised at being addressed.

“How's Montparnasse?” Courfeyrac teased. “That's a real star-crossed lovers situation right there.”

“Shut up,” Bahorel said sullenly, busying himself with eating his cake.

“I’m sorry he's made you a target,” Enjolras added as he swallowed a bite. “I should know. He's probably just as awful when he likes you as when he hates you.”

“Yeah...” Bahorel sighed, embarrassed.

Courfeyrac lay a hand on Bahorel's shoulder. “You wouldn't though, would you?” he asked, letting the unspoken implication sink in.

“Huh? N-no!” Bahorel said, eyes widening and pulling the spoon out of his mouth as he realized what Courfeyrac meant. “Of course not!”

“Just checking,” Courfeyrac laughed.

“Can you imagine?” Enjolras smirked.

Bahorel grumbled, bending over his cake to ignore the gossip.

“Who are we talking about?” Grantaire asked innocently.

“Don't worry about it,” Courfeyrac said with a big grin that bordered on the insincere. “Let's talk about you. How do you like Corinthe so far?”

Enjolras looked to Grantaire. Grantaire shrugged.

“How do you like living with Enjolras?” Courfeyrac continued, unphased.

Grantaire met Enjolras’s eyes. “We’re adjusting,” he said.

Enjolras nodded. It was a fair assessment.

“So tell me your story,” Courfeyrac said, plowing on. “Why did you change schools?”

Enjolras frowned, but Grantaire remained placid. “I’m guessing you already know the answer to that,” he said. “Enjolras probably tells you everything.”

Courfeyrac shrugged and nodded in agreement.

“I don't tell them _everything,_ ” Enjolras insisted.

“Oh, do tell, what secrets have you kept from Combeferre and l lately?”

Enjolras's mind immediately went to his harrowing visit with Valjean. And then…what he had witnessed in the gym, how Grantaire had made him feel strange. He certainly wasn't going to tell his friends about that. “Nothing too important,” he assured Courfeyrac, his smile concealing his thoughts, though he turned a little pink.

“Well, alright then,” Courfeyrac said, turning back to Grantaire. “So the circumstances aren’t so great, I know. But once you make friends and get used to it, you’ll forget all about the fact you didn’t want to be here.”

“I guess.” Grantaire ate a bite of cake thoughtfully.

“How’s the food?”

“Quite good. Really good, actually,” Grantaire finally smiled.

Courfeyrac grinned back. “Well, if you want to join the ABC Society, we can schedule an interview.” Despite the smile, it was a pointed reminder.

Grantaire’s face fell. “Oh.” He looked to Enjolras, his lips parting as if he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say.

“Everyone has to have an interview,” Enjolras said with gentle reassurance. “It’s only fair. I had to have one, too, when I was new.” His interviewees had long graduated now, but he still remembered how small and nervous he felt as a freshman, eager to join such a prestigious club.

“No, I…” Grantaire shook his head. “I mean, I don’t need an interview. It’s fine.”

“You don’t want to join?” Courfeyrac asked, confused.

Grantaire met Enjolras's eyes. “I… already know I don't fit your criteria.”

Enjolras knew he was right. After all, he had plainly told Valjean that Grantaire didn't fit the role of an exemplary student, that's why he had been so reluctant to allow him to attend. But still, something about Grantaire's lack of interest stung him. “Not with an attitude like that,” he sniffed, breaking eye contact with Grantaire and feigning interest in the lace placemat set before him.

Grantaire let out a bitter laugh. A member of the kitchen staff entered to start clearing away their empty plates, but Grantaire didn't seem to care that there was an adult present as he continued. “But why would I want to join?” He looked from Courfeyrac to Enjolras. “You invite me as a guest and then you make sure I know I don't _really_ belong, and that next time I can audition if I want to... what, eat dinner with you? That's bullshit.”

Enjolras darkened. Joly and Combeferre, who had been discussing a biology class project, stopped and took notice of the conversation. “I told you,” Enjolras said slowly. “I didn't make that part up. The interview is-”

“Stupid,” Grantaire finished for him. “This whole thing is stupid. You act like you have to be some sort of prestigious academic scholar, a ‘free-thinker’ to be here and what have you all done all night? Teased each other, gossiped? You can do that right out there in the cafeteria, no need to make them work overtime,” Grantaire said, pointing to the staff member clearing the plates.

She had clearly overheard, and reddening, she took what plates she had gathered through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, leaning over the table towards Grantaire. “The ABC Society has been a school tradition for over thirty years. It's a dinner club. I'm not _making_ the staff do anything that isn't in their job description. Besides that, we don't spend our meetings _gossiping_. This isn't the typical circumstance. I already mentioned we have speakers and important visitors come in.”

“Hope you don't treat all visitors the way you treat me,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras realized the entire table had gone silent, staring and listening as if he and Grantaire were the only ones there. “No,” Enjolras said roughly, his eyes back on Grantaire. “I don't.”

Grantaire curled his lip, shaking his head. “It's so pretentious. You're obsessed with exclusion. You even said yourself you didn't invite everyone in the club tonight.”

“Tonight is for the senior members,” Enjolras said defensively.

“But you invited me. Tell me, why did you invite me?” Grantaire pressed. “You know perfectly well I wouldn't pass your interview.”

Enjolras remained silent, gripping the table.

“Is it because you felt sorry for me? Because I have no friends?”

“No,” Enjolras growled.

“Why then? Hoping to make me into someone like you?”

“ _No,_ ” he snapped, glaring at Grantaire. “I wouldn't waste my time.”

“Then why let me tag along to your exclusive little rich boy dinner?” Grantaire demanded, glaring back.

“Hey now,” Courfeyrac warned.

“Valjean,” Enjolras whispered.

“What?” Courfeyrac turned to him.

“Valjean made me,” Enjolras said louder. “I don't want you here at all.”

Grantaire stared as if Enjolras had slapped him in the face. He stood up, his chair scraping on the wooden floor as he rose. “Don't ever do that again. I don't care what Valjean says, I don’t need any favors.”

“It wasn't like it was my choice,” Enjolras said, his brows drawn down as he glared up at him.

“Well, don't worry. You won't ever see me here again.” He turned and left, his hurried footsteps fading away out the door.

The dining room was eerily silent. All eyes were on Enjolras. “My apologies,” he finally said in a small voice, genuinely sorry he had caused a scene. _Grantaire ruins everything,_ he reminded himself. “Grantaire and I have not been getting along,” he explained.

“Are you going to go after him?” Combeferre asked from down the table.

Enjolras paused, ashamed that all his friends were quiet. “No,” he said, imagining Grantaire in the gym beating a punching bag substitute for Enjolras. “We’ll talk in the room when I get back.” He sounded calm, but he was dreading it.

The kitchen door swung quietly open, and the woman who had been clearing the plates peeked in to see if it was okay to enter once more.

“Come in,” Enjolras said guiltily. She got back to work, removing the dessert plates.

“Is it true?” Courfeyrac asked, turning back to Enjolras. “About Valjean?”

“Yes,” sighed Enjolras. “He seemed to think this was a good place for him. I don't think so. He's not used to schools like this, and he doesn’t understand this organization.”

“Hasn't he heard of a fraternity?” Bahorel asked. “We're not that different from one you'd find at university.”

Enjolras shrugged. “If it's not for him, then it's not for him.” But despite his outward appearance of nonchalance, he felt horrible inside. He wished none of this had happened, that he had forgotten to invite Grantaire along. He was relieved to hear conversations starting up softly down the table, ones that didn't involve Grantaire at all.

It was not long after that he tentatively made a brief closing statement, appropriate of his presidential duties. He promised their next meeting would be eventful in a more positive way, that he aimed to schedule the following meeting to coincide with their next school speaker visit, whoever it would be. With that said, he dismissed them, and they trailed back to the dorms.

It had grown colder outside since sunset, and Enjolras hugged his arms around himself, his sweater not thick enough to keep out the chill of the night air. When he arrived back in the room, the lump in Grantaire's bed let him know that Grantaire was buried inside, and hadn't gone to the gym to let out steam after all. “Do you have my scarf?” Enjolras asked his voice quiet but firm.

Grantaire sat up from the blankets, looking a rumpled mess. He was still dressed in his uniform, save for the blazer and shoes tossed aside. He unwound the red scarf from around his neck and threw it towards Enjolras. It landed on the wooden floor, and Enjolras bent to pick it up without comment. Grantaire flopped back over and pulled the covers over his head again.

“I'm sorry it didn't work out,” Enjolras managed to say, feeling numb inside. Mostly he felt sorry for the ABC Society, that the dinner ended in such a way. He didn't expect a response, and he wasn't surprised when Grantaire remained resolutely silent.

Enjolras turned to the drawers, folding up his scarf carefully. He brought it to his nose, sniffing in case it smelled like onion soup, or chocolate. Instead he simply picked up a faint scent he registered as simply Grantaire, familiar with it now that half of his bedroom smelled this way. It wasn't a bad scent, just a human scent, a combination of things that might have included Grantaire’s soap, and his aftershave. He put the scarf away, deeming it wasn't worth sending to the laundry. Besides, the laundry staff might kill him for sending a bright red scarf to be washed among all those white student shirts. He pulled out his pajamas from the drawer, cheering himself in the smallest way by imagining half the school in pink uniforms as he headed into the bathroom for a shower.

Later that night, after Enjolras had clambered into bed, he found himself tossing and turning, restless. Grantaire hadn't moved since he had taken off the scarf, and Enjolras had thought he must have simply fallen asleep under there, with his uniform on. But all of a sudden, he heard a pathetic whimpering, just like that first night, and he sighed. Was Grantaire that hurt by what had happened?

“Grantaire,” he said, half exasperated, half guilt-ridden.

“What?” Grantaire grunted, his voice gruff, and Enjolras heard him pulling the blankets off of his head.

“Don't cry. We can talk about this,” Enjolras said, wondering if he should go to him.

“I'm _not_ crying,” Grantaire snapped.

But Enjolras heard it again, the sharp intake of breath, a low moan. “Yes, you are.”

“That's not me,” Grantaire said, less angry this time, sounding curious. It wasn't a lie. Enjolras heard the whimpers and Grantaire's words at the same time

He sat up in bed, concerned. “Who is that, then?”

“Ah!” came the voice. It wasn't a cry of sadness. It was a cry of pleasure.

Enjolras's eyes widened, and he heard a snort of laughter from Grantaire's bed. “ _No,_ ” Enjolras said in disbelief, kicking off the covers and going to the door. He had never heard anyone doing something of that nature, that blatantly loud, in the dorm room. Did they want the whole floor to hear?

He opened the door and poked his head out suspiciously, and with a start he realized that Grantaire had followed and was right behind him. The hallway was as dark as their room, and they stood there holding their breath, listening. It wasn't long before the next audible gasp, coming from directly in front of them. Bahorel's door.

Enjolras marched forward, wondering if he should knock, what to say, when the next sound clued him in for a second shock. That wasn't Bahorel making those noises. _Did he sneak in a girl?_ Incensed, he put his hands to the door frame and leaned in, heart beating wildly, with Grantaire right beside him pressing his ear to the door.

“Tell me I'm pretty,” a familiar voice begged.

“You are,” Bahorel answered plainly.

“I am?” A soft purr.

“Oh... my god,” Enjolras whispered in realization, jerking away from the door, feeling nauseated.

“Oh my god,” Grantaire repeated back, sounding far more amused. His face was barely visible, only a shape in the darkness.

“That's _Montparnasse_ ,” Enjolras hissed, as if Grantaire should know this was not a laughing matter. He raised his hand up in a fist, ready to bang on the door.

Grantaire's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist with strong fingers. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low whisper.

“This is _not_ acceptable,” Enjolras said firmly, wrenching his wrist away before pounding authoritatively on the door.

Abruptly the noises on the other side of the door stopped, although Enjolras thought he heard a panicked scrabble right before the silence.

“Bahorel,” Enjolras insisted. “Get out here.”

“Aw c’mon,” Grantaire said, still whispering. He slipped his hand into the crook of Enjolras's arm, tugging him gently towards the room. “They know we've heard. They'll stop.”

“No, you don't understand,” Enjolras shot back at him, rolling his shoulder to free himself from Grantaire's grip. “Bahorel,” he hissed again.

There were footsteps and finally the door swung open. The figure of Bahorel peered out, trying to make out the shapes in the hall. “Enjolras?” he asked tentatively.

“And me,” Grantaire added unhelpfully.

“So, uh…” Bahorel started sheepishly.

“A little loud, don't you think?” Enjolras growled.

“Sorry,” Bahorel whispered.

“Where is he?” Enjolras demanded, trying to see past Bahorel.

“Who?” he asked innocently, blocking the doorway.

“Don't insult my intelligence, Bahorel, I know you weren't making those disgusting sounds all by yourself.” Enjolras pushed past Bahorel. He saw Montparnasse, pulling the covers of the bed up over his chest, as if he were hiding something Enjolras hadn't already seen before.

“Get out!” Montparnasse cried.

“This isn't your room,” Enjolras snarled, glaring at the figure of Montparnasse in the darkness.

“It's not yours either,” Bahorel said grumpily from the doorway.

Enjolras turned back to Bahorel. “You live in a single. A _single_. You can't have anyone in here at night even when you aren’t-”

“You managed to turn a single into a double,” Bahorel said, gesturing to Grantaire.

“I _have_ to live with him!” Enjolras nearly shouted, incredulous.

"Shhh!" Montparnasse hissed.

“We don't make noise like that,” Grantaire pointed out.

“We're not having _sex_!” Enjolras spat the word out as if it were poisonous. “This is a school, not a brothel!”

“Jealous?” Montparnasse asked airily. “Guess Bahorel _doesn't_ hate me after all, Enjolras, and all I had to do was ask. Maybe you should find yourself a boyfriend, too. Losing your virginity might loosen that stick you've got up your ass.”

Enjolras's glare snapped back to Montparnasse. “You're out of bed past curfew, and you're making enough noise to wake up the whole hall. I'm going to tell Valjean.”

“No!” Bahorel and Montparnasse both shouted simultaneously. Bahorel grabbed Enjolras's wrist in desperation. “Please don't,” he said softly, begging. “You won't hear a sound from me again.”

Enjolras realized he was close to tears himself, his cheeks hot and flushed. “How could you?” he whispered. “Montparnasse, of all people. You know about what happened. And you lied to us, right there at dinner. You said... you... you wouldn’t.”

Bahorel let go of his hand, defeated. “I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you. I _did_ want to be with Parnasse. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it because I knew you'd be like this. And then he came to me tonight and… Enj, can't you let it go?”

“Never,” Enjolras said acidly. The word was followed by a painful silence.

Bahorel finally spoke up again. “Please don't tell anyone.”

“If I hear one more sound,” Enjolras said. “I will personally inform the headmaster why I couldn't sleep tonight.”

“Enjolr-” Montparnasse started to protest.

“And _you_ ,” Enjolras interrupted. “If I have to put up with one more snide comment from you, if you kick my chair in class, _anything_ , I'll make sure the staff knows to check your bed at night.”

Montparnasse shut his mouth and kept silent.

Enjolras felt a hand slip beneath his arm, gently tugging him back. “Alright, alright,” Grantaire whispered in an attempt to be soothing. “That's enough.”

Enjolras reluctantly let himself be pulled backward. “This is a betrayal,” he announced dramatically to Bahorel as he was dragged over the threshold.

“I'm sorry, Enj,” Bahorel said regretfully. “But this is not about you.” He closed the door quietly once Enjolras was back in the hallway.

“Don't come to me when your things go missing,” he hissed to the closed door, so he could have the last word. He fell limp then, letting Grantaire lead him back into their room and sit him down on the nearest bed, Grantaire's bed.

Grantaire turned and shut the door. “And I thought your wrath was just for me,” he commented. “What happened? Either I've missed something, or that's quite the overreaction.” He sat down on the bed next to Enjolras.

“I'm not overreacting! It's…” Enjolras reached up and wiped at a hot tear tickling his cheek. “Montparnasse. He and I... we have a history.”

“Ah.”

“All my friends know that. They know what he did. How could… how could any friend of mine, knowing that, want to be with him?”

“Mm,” Grantaire nodded. “I'm sorry. Were you... together?”

“What?” Enjolras was taken aback as he realized what Grantaire was implying. “Montparnasse?! No! I haven't been with anyone, let alone... No. We were roommates. Assigned together, freshman year.”

“Oh.” Grantaire shifted on the bed. “What happened then, between you two?”

“At first, nothing…” Enjolras sighed, leaning back against the wall, feeling the words start to spill out of him. “I thought he was alright enough, even if he was lazy and late to class half the time. I was excited about school, and everything was new. I didn't pay him any mind. And then, slowly I realized my things started disappearing. I thought it was forgetfulness, or you know, clothes getting lost in the laundry. But then it was bigger things. Cash for the weekend trip. An essay I had written. And then… one day, my mom called and asked if I had gotten her package in the mail. ‘What package?’ I asked.” Enjolras felt the bitterness surging through him all over again. “She described the contents. I had seen Montparnasse sitting in his bed across the room with that very package the month before, eating all the sweets and wearing _my_ scarf she made for _me_. And now that I knew this it was too late. The letter she had written to me inside the box had long ago been thrown in the trash, thanks to Montparnasse. That was my first few months at boarding school,” he said, swiping at his cheek again. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear from my family.”

“Did you get anything back from your package?”

Enjolras nodded. “The scarf.”

“The one I wore tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm surprised you would lend it to me.”

“With reluctance.” Enjolras sighed. “Anyway, I figured out what happened when I was on the phone with my mom, had her explain it to the office. They came to inspect our dorm room and confiscated the things he had stolen from me hidden in his drawers. My scarf, some of my clothes he had taken earlier. He lied, of course, said they were his, but he was already getting in trouble at school and they didn't believe him. Thankfully, I got to switch rooms. I asked to be with Courfeyrac, who I had met at the first ABC dinner I attended. He was rooming with Claquesous. You probably don't know Claquesous yet but he was already familiar with Parnasse, from detention probably, and agreed. But Montparnasse wasn't let off the hook, his parents were brought up to the school and he was put on academic probation until Christmas that year. Weekend privileges taken away. He was sore about it for a long time, still is. Every day is an opportunity for him to remind me how much he hates me. So I'll hate him right back. It's his own damn fault.”

“That is certainly a history,” Grantaire agreed.

“So why…why would Bahorel… I mean, a member of the ABC with someone from _Patron-Minette_ …” he shook his head, trailing off.

“Is that a club?”

“No. It's a _gang,_ and they're all just as terrible as the next. I didn't think that Bahorel had even _talked_ to Montparnasse before. And now…” He bit his lip. He didn't want to imagine what was going on behind Bahorel's door. “What do you think he sees in him?”

“He was the one in the dress, right? At the auditions? The one that's in our debate class?”

Enjolras blinked, unaware they had made it this far in the conversation without Grantaire being certain who they were speaking of. It had been dark when they saw him just now, after all. “Yes. That's him.”

“Well. I mean, I suppose he's got quite a nice face,” Grantaire reasoned. “Along with the rest.”

Enjolras looked at him sharply, even though Grantaire was rather vague in the dark. “And do you think that's all that matters?” he asked. “Good looks and who cares about the rest?”

“No but… sometimes you can't help who you're attracted to. You might not even like them. But somehow you can't help thinking about them even when you try not to.”

Enjolras let the words sink in, feeling suddenly uncomfortable that he might be right. And that Grantaire might be suggesting something he didn't have any right to know about within Enjolras's private thoughts. “Well, I wouldn't give in. If it were me,” he said stiffly.

“Chemistry is a powerful force.”

“And you speak from experience?” Enjolras asked, annoyed.

“I know how it feels,” Grantaire said dismissively.

Enjolras huffed out a sigh. He was annoyed that his head was still swarming with unbidden thoughts. “I just can't believe, I mean, I didn't even think that that sort of thing _happens_ ,” he said, still in shock.

“And you told me you had taken Greek literature,” Grantaire tutted.

“No, I-” Enjolras stopped to growl in frustration. “I know _that_ happens but _here._ Students from Corinthe. Right in this building, in a dorm room.”

“I doubt they're the first or the last to do so.”

Enjolras realized that Grantaire was unbuttoning his shirt beside him. He tensed, turning to look at him guardedly. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I never took off my uniform,” he said, pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves.

“I noticed.” Enjolras watched Grantaire toss the shirt onto the floor before he stood up to unfasten and slip out of his pants. He sat back down beside Enjolras in only his boxers, bare-chested and unabashed at his state of undress. Enjolras felt his heart begin to race. They were so near to the debauchery in the next room that it was hard to get such activities out of his mind. He could feel Grantaire’s warmth beside him, and was glad to be beneath the protective layer of his pajamas. “I...I don't hear them anymore,” he said distractedly. “Maybe they've stopped.”

“You did threaten them, after all. But maybe they're just being quieter about it.”

“I can't even imagine what was going on behind that door,” Enjolras scoffed.

“Based on the sounds Montparnasse was making, I'd say he was receiving oral.”

Enjolras could feel himself turning bright red, though thankfully Grantaire wouldn't see in the darkness. “And _why_ would you know that?”

Grantaire laughed at his accusing tone. “Well, not from first hand experience, but I've heard plenty of suspicious activity behind closed doors. Back home,” Grantaire leaned into whisper, as Enjolras's heart fluttered, “I went to parties rich boys like you wouldn't dare set foot in. And instead you have snobby little dinners where you pretend like you're above it all. What kind of fun is that?”

Enjolras felt a flash of anger at the jab. “We're not above it all. You just don't understand it. The ABC Society, Corinthe, any of this.”

“Not at all,” he admitted, drawing away with a sigh, before flopping back on his pillow. “I still haven't found a reason to stay.”

“Corinthe is about opportunity. You would be wise to take it, when it presents itself,” Enjolras advised. “Don't throw it away.”

“Like the false opportunity you gave me tonight?” Grantaire scoffed. “Come join us but you're not actually invited?”

Enjolras got up from the bed, turning to glare in Grantaire's direction. “If you showed any glimmer of ambition, promise, or even interest, I would welcome you with open arms. But all you can do is make cynical comments about the school and act like you'd rather be anywhere else. This is the hand you've been dealt, Grantaire. Learn to play the game instead of giving up.”

Grantaire pointedly turned away from Enjolras, rolling over to face the wall. “I don't want to play this game.”

“Then what do you want?” Enjolras said, his eyes on the broad, pale shape of Grantaire's back. “Do you want _anything_ , besides leaving here?”

“I want a friend,” Grantaire said quietly.

Enjolras couldn't seem to respond, feeling as if he had been struck in the chest, in the heart, with a sudden wave of guilt. _I'm sorry,_ he wanted to say, his lips parting, but he couldn't manage to speak up with Grantaire's back to him like a barrier. The room was dead silent, the noises from across the hall long stopped. His throat tight, he turned and walked quietly back to his own bed, slipping under the covers with a weight over his mind and his heart that he had never quite felt inside him before. _I'm sorry that it can't be me._


	4. A Trip to Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drinking age in France is 18. They are 18 in this story.
> 
> [This picture](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e6/b8/a2/e6b8a2186824e7eb87328c35bad4c949.jpg) is significant later if you want to have a look. (open in new tab)
> 
> And as always here's [the map](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) if you want. (open in a new tab as well)

It had grown colder that night, even though it was only September, and Enjolras found himself not wanting to leave the comfort of the blankets when he woke. Besides, he hadn't slept as much as he would have liked, after the scandalous occurrences of the night before. But it was Saturday, which meant a trip into town if he didn't miss the eleven o'clock bus, and he kicked away the covers, fighting off the urge to stay in bed all morning.

Grantaire was still curled up under his blankets when Enjolras emerged from the bathroom, showered and freshly dressed in a cozy sweater and jeans. He gazed thoughtfully for a moment, wondering if he should wake him, then decided that despite what had happened at the ABC dinner, it would be a shame to let Grantaire miss the trip to town. Besides, it might give him the opportunity to socialize with other students and find someone to befriend, instead of staying cooped up by himself.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras called, putting his hand down on Grantaire's blanketed form and shaking him gently.

“Mmf.”

“If you want to go to town today, you should get dressed. Bus is at eleven. There isn't much time left, if you want to grab breakfast first.”

“Right, right,” he grunted. He sat up sleepily, and as the blankets fell away, Enjolras took an alarmed step back. He had forgotten that Grantaire had gone to bed in just his underwear, and the sight of his bare torso and the little trail of hair that ran down his belly was overwhelming this close, this early in the morning.

Enjolras turned away in embarrassment, retrieving his scarf from the drawer. “The bus will be out in front of the dorms,” he told him quickly, as Grantaire made for the bathroom. “It departs at eleven sharp, don't be late.” With that, he turned and left for breakfast, wrapping the scarf around his neck.

As he headed over to the Great Hall, cold hands shoved in his pockets, he caught a faint, familiar scent on the air. For a moment he thought that Grantaire had followed him out, but he realized it was the scarf that smelled like his roommate. _How does he not own anything red?_ he scoffed, his hand going to where the scarf wrapped around his neck. He lifted it, sniffing tentatively before tucking his chin into it and taking another breath. Grantaire’s scent had been imbued in the yarn, and it was calming. He let himself enjoy it for a moment, his nose buried in the scarf, until he realized how strange he might have looked to passerby. It certainly wasn’t cold enough to be wrapping up his face. He shoved the scarf back down. So what if he enjoyed the scent of Grantaire’s aftershave? It was _supposed_ to smell good. Maybe he would use the same kind, if he ever managed to grow facial hair. With flushed cheeks, he went into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Soon after, he and his friends from the ABC Society were wandering out of the building, having eaten their fill of fruit and pastries, and headed to the buses in front of the dorms. There were three, one each for sophomores, juniors, and seniors. Freshman had yet to earn the right to leave campus, but the rest of the students were filtering onto their respective buses for the trip into town. Sister Simplice, the former nun who along with Father Myriel was part of the staff that lived permanently at the school to watch over the students, was standing beside the senior bus and taking down their names as they climbed inside.

When Enjolras entered the bus, he saw Montparnasse with Claquesous on one side of the bus, and Bahorel next to Feuilly on the other. He wondered if by some miracle Montparnasse and Bahorel had broken it off since last night, but the pair of them managed to share a furtive glance across the bus when they saw Enjolras boarding. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were stepping up behind him, and Enjolras caught Bahorel's nervous gaze darting to them, clearly wondering if Enjolras had told them what he knew. But Enjolras simply shook his head with a disapproving look, allaying his fears while still making sure Bahorel knew he wasn't off the hook. What had been seen and heard could never be undone.

Enjolras sat down beside Combeferre near the front of the bus, Courfeyrac and Marius taking their seats across the aisle from them. “Hey, where's Joly?” he asked.

“Too brisk,” Combeferre smirked. “He's afraid to catch cold.”

All of a sudden, Joly appeared huffing and puffing at the bus doors. “I am not!” he said in exasperation as he took the empty seat in front of them. “Stop saying that,” he chided, though Enjolras noticed he was quite bundled up in a winter coat and cap.

“Got your dose of orange juice at breakfast?” Combeferre teased, leaning over Joly’s seat.

“Shh,” Joly said, refusing to look in his direction. “Yes.”

“Then you should be fine,” Combeferre said smoothly, relaxing back against in his seat and turning to Enjolras. “And where is your roommate, may I ask?”

“I woke him up,” Enjolras shrugged, checking his watch. “The rest is up to him.”

It wasn't until the bus driver had started the engine and the doors were closing that Grantaire came sprinting up, waving frantically. The doors opened back up to admit him and he swung inside, sinking heavily into the empty seat next to Joly in the first row. “Hi,” he panted, casually nodding to Joly

“Hello,” Joly returned curiously.

 _How typical of you, Grantaire,_ Enjolras thought, but he held his tongue and simply rearranged his scarf, fighting the urge to catch Grantaire's attention.

Then the buses were pulling away from the dorms, down the long driveway past the main office and the expansive lawns, through the front gates where they left the campus behind. Out the window, they could see the mountains, hazy in the distance, and nearby were the rolling fields of purple flowers. Their aroma seeped in through the open windows and lingered for some time, even as they passed into denser woodland, thick with pine and cedar trees. Once they cleared the woods, they could see the town lying just beyond the farmlands as they drove past pastures of grazing sheep and horses.

The bus drove right into the heart of town, dropping them off at the central square around which all the favorite shops of the students were situated. Among them was a bookstore full of rare books, a quaint bakery that specialized in miniature cakes, a cheese shop that sold wares from the local farms, and a pub that often gave the students free hot cocoa on cold days. The students hopped off the bus, the ABC members creating a small gathering in the square, and Grantaire stood at a distance in coltish confusion, unsure where he was meant to go. Other students began trailing away, Montparnasse arm in arm with Claquesous already heading to a thrift shop. “Be back at three o’clock and no later!” Sister Simplice called out, as she took her leave to the pub.

“What's the plan?” Courfeyrac asked, turning to Enjolras.

“Well,” he thought for a moment, his mouth curling up in a smile. “How about a picnic? Our usual spot in the park. Lamarque at one o’clock. Just make sure you find somewhere to pick up food before you head over.”

“Good plan,” Courfeyrac said, grinning back. “Seeya then.”

The group broke into smaller pairs, and off they went to explore the shops. Enjolras was left standing with Combeferre, and Grantaire still stood uncertainly nearby. “We can just go wherever we want?” he asked.

“As long as you get back to the bus at three,” Enjolras shrugged. “Can't imagine you can get yourself in much trouble.”

“Oh, just wait,” Grantaire said with a grin.

Enjolras opened his mouth to retort, but Combeferre put a hand down on his shoulder and steered him towards the bookstore. “He's joking, Enjolras,” he explained with gentle exasperation.

“You never know,” Enjolras grumbled. “He's been trying to find trouble for himself all week.”

As they entered the bookstore, the wonderful scent of books, both musty with age and freshly printed, permeated the air. Enjolras was only there to browse, but Combeferre seemed to have a book in mind. He followed him to the Psychology section towards the back of the store. “So what happened last night?” Combeferre asked as they rounded an aisle.

Enjolras looked up at him, surprised. Had he heard Montparnasse too, or the ensuing hallway confrontation? Combeferre lived almost at the other end of the dorm.

Combeferre noticed his questioning look, and returned it with a bemused smile. “I mean was everything alright between you and Grantaire, after the dinner?”

Enjolras was half-relieved it wasn't the subject he had originally assumed. “I…I suppose,” he said with a sigh. Everything with Grantaire was an uncertainty. “We had a talk, but I can't say it solved much of anything.”

“It seems like you’re both strong-willed. And I know you. You're like a rock the ocean beats against. It would take years to wear you down.” Combeferre knelt down to peruse the bottom of the bookshelf, and Enjolras did the same to keep level with him.

“If I'm a rock, so is he. Stubborn as one, for certain. A rock beating against another rock, what does that accomplish?” He shook his head.

“Sparks,” Combeferre said, adjusting his glasses. “Here you go,” he added jokingly, pulling out a book titled _The Art of Getting Along._

Enjolras rolled his eyes, pushing Combeferre's hand away. But what he said finally sunk in. _Sparks._ That could mean two very different human emotions; aggression, or something else entirely.

He turned his face away with a blush, and his eyes happened to fall on another title on the bookshelf in front of them. _Strange Attraction: Why We Fall for our Opposites._ He stood up abruptly, angry at himself for the thoughts in his head. There was nothing going on beneath the surface, and it was stupid to entertain the thought that what he was experiencing was anything more than that. Sure, he felt odd when Grantaire was in a state of undress, but that could be explained by a mixture of resentment and... envy, that was all. Grantaire was masculine and confident, while Enjolras had been fighting insecurity regarding his boyish looks for quite some time. It made sense enough.

“I'm going to go browse,” Enjolras said in agitation.

“Sure,” Combeferre said from down on the floor, pulling out another book.

Enjolras wandered through the store, attempting to find something to catch his attention, and distract him from his thoughts, but he couldn't seem to banish Grantaire from his mind. Everything seemed to remind Enjolras of him. The shelves devoted to Shakespeare's plays. The how-to-draw books out on a display near the children's section. _Homoeroticism in Ancient Greece,_ a title that caught his unwilling eye in the Classical Studies aisle. _And why should that remind me of him?_ he scolded himself, until he remembered Grantaire had mentioned the Greeks during their conversation regarding sexuality last night.

Grumbling to himself, Enjolras hooked a finger around the top of the book, pulling it out by the spine, and looked at the cover. It was an old book, with flat, red figures scattered across the cover in pairs, engaging in…very Greek activities. He cracked it open curiously, wondering if a book like this might explain to him why something as unthinkable as the sensual joining of Patron-Minette and the ABC Society could have happened. Or, more importantly, if it might assure him that certain emotions could sometimes be mistaken for sexual attraction, instead of something more rational and understandable.

He would have had more luck in the Psychology section. The book was less interested in explaining to him the complex relationships between men, and more interested in showing him ancient erotic art. His eyes widened at the depictions of Dionysian worship, satyrs frolicking with fluffy bottoms and hard members. One of the satyrs reminded him of Grantaire, oddly enough, and as he stared at the picture he thought he even caught a whiff of his scent. It was just the scarf, he realized, but still it seemed stronger, more noticeable than before. His skin prickled, and he felt warmth, like a presence around him.

“What are you looking at?” A voice said softly near his ear.

Enjolras yelped and dropped the book, spinning around to face the enemy, heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Grantaire smiled, thoroughly amused and looking surprised he could elicit such a response from Enjolras. “Whoa. I was just-”

“Don't sneak up behind me like that!” Enjolras growled, his nerves recovering from the fright.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know I was sneaking,” Grantaire said, still with an infuriating smile on his face. “I was just wondering what you were reading.” He bent down to pick up the fallen book.

Enjolras felt his body seize up with embarrassment and guilt, his cheeks turning beet red. He quickly turned and fled, too late to snatch the book away from Grantaire's curious fingers.

“Oh, now _this_ looks interesting,” he heard Grantaire call after him, and Enjolras couldn't miss the obvious satisfaction in his voice.

Humiliated Grantaire had seen such incriminating evidence, he made his way straight to Combeferre. He found him standing out in the main aisle, books in his arms. “We have to go,” Enjolras announced as he approached him.

“Alright,” Combeferre said, lifting an eyebrow. “I have to pay first. Everything okay?”

“I'm fine, just hurry up,” he said, pushing Combeferre towards the register.

Soon Enjolras was free of the bookstore, tugging Combeferre out into the open air again. “What's all this about?” Combeferre complained.

“Grantaire's in there,” Enjolras mumbled grumpily.

“So you didn't make up last night.”

“No, that's…” Enjolras waved his hand dismissively, letting out a breath. “Not it. Nevermind. Let's go in there,” he said, pointing to the little antique shop across from the bookstore.

After they had their fill of old clocks and furniture, Enjolras coming out of the store with a vintage quill pen carefully wrapped in his bag, they continued on to the chocolatier. From there they bought a paper bag of candy truffles each, and then traveled around to other food vendors for the rest of their picnic supplies. Brie from the cheese shop; a baguette from the bakery; salami, greens, and sodas in glass bottles from the delicatessen. Enjolras checked his watch when they were out in the sunny town square again, and it was time to head off to the park with their purchases.

They tromped through the grass toward a bronze statue erected in the center of the park near a fountain, a monument to General Lamarque, who had died in 1832. Enjolras had always admired the man, who was not only a war hero but a political hero to the people of Paris, and he had started a tradition in sophomore year for his friends to meet at the statue on their field trips downtown. He put his hands on Lamarque’s base and pushed himself up to sit on the stone platform at his feet, warm from the sunlight. Combeferre jumped up there with him, their paper bags of food set between them, and there they sat to wait for the others.

Soon the ABC members arrived, and they all gathered around and beneath the sculpture, picnicking under a brilliant blue sky. Combeferre cut off slices of bread, salami, and brie with his pocket knife so he and Enjolras could build themselves sandwiches. Joly, despite his earlier concern for the cooler weather, was licking an ice cream cone, and Courfeyrac was down in the grass enjoying a crepe with the other boys on the football team, discussing their upcoming practice schedule for the week. Enjolras's gaze met Bahorel's, and he received a small, pleading smile in return, an appeal to Enjolras's more sympathetic nature. _We’re still friends, right?_ Bahorel seemed to ask. A tight-lipped smile flickered on Enjolras's face before he looked away. He'd think about it.

“Oh look, there he is,” Combeferre said quietly.

Enjolras looked up half expecting to see Montparnasse walking over. But of course, Combeferre hadn't known what was on his mind, and it was Grantaire walking across the park towards them, holding his bag lunch. Grantaire had overheard the plans to meet in the park, it hadn't exactly been announced in secret, but Enjolras was surprised that he would want to eat a meal with this particular group after the disastrous dinner of the previous evening.

Grantaire approached, stepping carefully around the boys and their lunches sprawled out on the grass, and made his way straight to the base of the statue, his eyes turned up to Enjolras. “I've got something for you,” he said, and from beneath his arm he drew a package wrapped up in brown paper, offering it up to Enjolras.

It took Enjolras a moment to realize what it could possibly be. It was the exact size of a certain book he had very recently been holding. He turned bright red. “Get that away from me,” he hissed, not wanting to draw attention. He pushed the package away.

Grantaire didn't falter. “You haven't even seen what it is,” he insisted, holding it out again.

“I know what it _is_ ,” Enjolras growled under his breath. “And I don't want it. Don't try to embarrass me in front of all my friends.”

Grantaire pursed his lips, attempting to stare down Enjolras's icy gaze. But he gave in, and with a sigh he turned away. Taking the package with him, he went and sat at the fountain, a distance just far enough to be out of earshot, looking as if he were only there by happenstance and unaffiliated with the group gathered around General Lamarque.

“Should I ask…?” Combeferre started.

“No,” Enjolras sighed. “He's testing me, Combeferre.” He put his lips to his glass soda bottle and took a sip. “He's been testing my patience ever since he got here. And it's made me feel…” He paused shaking his head. _A lot of things._ “Exhausted,” he settled on.

“It's only the first week,” Combeferre said.

“That's what I'm afraid of.” Enjolras had subconsciously tucked his chin into the scarf, but realized what he was doing when he no longer was able to detect the scent of Grantaire. It had worn off. He lifted his head and looked back over at the lone figure at the fountain. Grantaire had taken out a sketchbook, lost in some drawing now. “Combeferre,” Enjolras said, turning back to his friend.

“Hm.”

“I have a question.”

“Alright,” Combeferre said, digging out a truffle from his bag of chocolates. “I may or may not have an answer.”

“Unrelated to the previous subject. Just wondering. No reason,” Enjolras said quickly.

“Yes?”

“Do you think that… activity of a… more physical nature ever happens in the dorms?”

“A more physical nature,” Combeferre repeated back, eating a chocolate.

“Yes,” Enjolras said, watching him carefully.

“No, I don't think so,” he replied, adjusting his glasses. “I know so.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, surprised. “So you... heard?” he asked.

Combeferre nodded. “I've been told,” he said, mistaking Enjolras's meaning. “When we were sophomores, there was a senior who supervised after school lab time, over in the science building. He was more intimate with his best friend than he wanted us to know, but rumors spread. That's how I heard. Of course, I had a lot of respect for him, I admired him. He was the smartest kid in the science department. I didn't tell anyone else, until now.”

Suddenly Enjolras felt guilty for bringing it up, wilting at Combeferre's words. He had no respect for Montparnasse, but what about Bahorel? Last night he had been practically threatening blackmail over broken rules in the heat of the moment. Perhaps he _had_ overreacted. “Is it… common, do you think?” he asked tentatively, wanting to steer the conversation away from anyone specific. “Wanting to be with another boy.”

“More common than we were brought up to believe, I'd say. We're told it's an anomaly and yet look at the Greeks, it was a way of life.”

“Right,” Enjolras agreed sullenly, once again reminded of the humiliating book. He cast another sidelong glance at Grantaire, still busy drawing.

Combeferre leaned in closer. “Are you asking because of Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras turned and stared at him, raising his brows.

Combeferre smirked. “Courfeyrac offering kissing lessons to Marius? For the benefit of Cosette, of course.”

Enjolras laughed. He hadn’t heard about that.

“He was only joking, I think.” Combeferre looked down to the grass where Courfeyrac had Marius in a playful headlock.

“For Marius's sake, I hope so,” Enjolras said with a smile, reaching for his own bag of chocolates. “Courfeyrac would eat him alive.”

They stayed in the park for an hour or so more, Enjolras and Combeferre eventually climbing down from the statue to lounge in the grass with the rest of the boys. By then, Grantaire had wandered off. Feuilly had brought a deck of playing cards and they all sat in a circle, passing cards and betting snacks. Then the time to meet at the bus was creeping closer, so after the cards were swept up they returned to town, the boys disappearing into the shops for last minute purchases of candy to bring back to the dorms. Soon enough, they were boarding the bus and puttering up the road past the fields and forest back to campus.

As they were hopping off the bus and heading into the dorms, Enjolras felt a tug at his scarf. He turned around, sure it was going to be Grantaire, but instead found himself facing Montparnasse, pulling him aside from the dorm entrance. “Let go,” Enjolras said, extracting his scarf from Montparnasse's hands, the very one that Montparnasse had stolen from him three years ago.

“You didn't tell anyone, did you?” he whispered, his brows drawn down in suspicion. “If you did, I swear-”

“I didn't,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms. “And you won't take that tone with me if you want it to stay that way.”

Montparnasse said nothing, his eyes narrowed.

“And if you didn't want anyone to know, why were you yowling like an alley cat last night?” Enjolras asked.

Montparnasse flushed. “I didn't, I-I don't!” he stammered.

“Look, all you have to do is shut up and leave me alone and I'll keep your secret. Got it?”

Montparnasse nodded, eyes on the ground.

“Good,” Enjolras said, turning and ascending the steps into the dorm.

Grantaire was taking off his shoes when Enjolras walked into the room. He spotted the shopping bag sitting on Grantaire's bed. “Did you really have to buy that book?” Enjolras chastised him as he closed the door. “Why would you do that?”

Grantaire stood up. “I didn't buy that book,” he said flatly.

“Then what was in the package?”

“I told you to open it, but you didn't trust me,” he said with a huff of disappointment. He turned to his shopping bag.

“I don't think we're quite on a level of trust, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, watching warily as Grantaire took a book from his bag, this time without any brown paper wrappings. It was not the erotic art book, but a plain black one of a matching size. There was nothing written on the cover, and Enjolras cocked his head at it curiously. Was that the book Grantaire had been drawing in at the park? He tentatively took the book as Grantaire handed it over. “A sketchbook?” Enjolras shook his head. “You know I'm not an artist, Grantaire. I don't want to-”

“Bamatabois gave you homework outside of class,” Grantaire argued in exasperation. “Now you have somewhere to put it in.”

“But…” Enjolras started as he opened the book to the first page. He raised his brows as he saw the statue of General Lamarque. It was a life drawing Grantaire had done in the park, and there, at the statue’s feet, was the figure of Enjolras. Combeferre and the others had been left out, but even so Enjolras found himself entranced, Lamarque’s likeness along with his own sketched in delicate detail. “I-I can't take this,” Enjolras said. “You've drawn in it now.”

“Oh, who cares,” Grantaire said, taking the book back and tearing the drawing from the book much to Enjolras’s wide-eyed horror. Grantaire tried to return the book, but Enjolras reached and took the page from his other hand instead. Thankfully, the paper had torn cleanly from the binding. “You… want that?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras said protectively, setting it on his desk.

Grantaire smiled faintly, then joined him at the desk, setting the sketchbook down beside the drawing. “Really, I want you to have this. I already have my own. You should start on that homework anyway, while I'm around.”

“Going somewhere?” Enjolras asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know,” Grantaire said, tossing his hair. “Big plans. Dinner in the cafeteria, and all that.”

Enjolras smiled. “I'll try not to get in your way.” Then with a reluctant sigh, he took off his scarf and shoes, and sat down at his desk, taking out the assignment sheet Bamatabois had made him. On it was a short numbered list of things he was to draw by the next class period.

Grantaire read the list over his shoulder. “Well, at least you have until Tuesday.”

“Monday,” Enjolras corrected him.

Grantaire drew his brows together. “Art was on Tuesday and Thursday last week.”

“Yes, well, this week it's on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It's called block scheduling, Grantaire. It's a bi-weekly system.”

“That’s stupid,” Grantaire said casually.

Enjolras sighed. “It's supposed to be stimulating. Your routine changes from week to week. Besides, think of it this way: you only have to see Javert twice this round, you'll like that.”

“Oh, I do,” Grantaire said brightly. “I wish I never had to see him.”

“Drop the class of you feel that strongly,” Enjolras said dryly, his eyes scanning the assignment sheet again.

“Oh but I love ending my classes with you everyday,” Grantaire said in a simpering tone. “Wouldn't want to give that up.”

“Of course not.” Enjolras stared at the first item of business on the sheet. “What is this? ‘Draw twenty ellipses?’”

“Ellipses are elongated circ-”

“I know what they are, I took Geometry,” Enjolras interrupted. “I meant _why_? I'm not a child, I know my shapes. I'm not _that_ artistically challenged.”

“It's just to loosen you up before you go onto the next step.” Grantaire mimed circling his arm around. “Remember how I showed you in class on Thursday?”

Enjolras looked up at Grantaire. He remembered only too well, Grantaire's hand guiding his. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep himself from blushing.

“And also it will help you break in using your sketchbook. Don't be afraid to make a mess.”

“Oh, I'm certainly going to make one,” Enjolras said grimly. He opened the book and took a pencil from his desk, staring at the cream-colored paper, blank and lineless. He tentatively touched the pencil tip to the page, but the realization that Grantaire was looming overhead irked him. “Grantaire. I don't need your help,” Enjolras said curtly.

“Right.” Grantaire went and sat on his bed, leaving Enjolras to his new sketchbook.

Enjolras sighed and curved his pencil around slowly, drawing a shaky ellipse. _One._ Then another, faster. _Two_. Counting in his head, he drew another and another, faster and faster until it became a quick, intuitive movement. And as he went, he saw that the new ones looked better than the first ones, the line more solid and confident than the first few shaky attempts. It was something satisfying to observe, as if in only a minute he had somehow improved his artistic skill a noticeable amount. Enjolras didn't even want to make art, and yet it felt good to think he might have a chance if he simply unlocked the secret of lines. But when he finished his ellipses and read the next task, his hopes came crashing down just as suddenly. “Grantaire,” he said softly, looking over the back of his chair. “I need help.”

Grantaire grinned and hopped up. “What is it?” he asked. Enjolras pointed to the second item, and Grantaire read it out loud. “Draw a cube or cylinder lit by a direct light source.”

“I know what those words mean but I don't think I can picture the visual result,” Enjolras said, embarrassed that he didn't understand what was being asked of him.

“Ah,” Grantaire said. “Let's see.” He turned and made for the bathroom, returning a moment later with the cup Enjolras kept his toothbrush in, now empty. He set it upside down on the desk in front of Enjolras and turned on the desk lamp, illuminating the cup in the lamplight. “There. Cylinder, direct light source. He's testing if you can create light and shadow on a simple object. Draw that.”

Enjolras stared at it. “And uh, how do I go about doing that?”

Grantaire laughed softly and went to retrieve his desk chair, dragging it over and straddling it backwards, his chest leaning on the back of the chair as he pointed out a plan of action. “So you want to start off with a line drawing, just like geometry class, except you want to focus on exactly what you see in front of you, in both positive and negative space…”

Enjolras gave him his full attention as Grantaire patiently explained the process of creating an observational drawing, and even when Enjolras put pencil to paper, he let Grantaire stay beside him. In any other case, Grantaire pointing out his mistakes would have angered him, but here Enjolras listened and quietly corrected them, as Grantaire critiqued the distorted perspective of his beginning sketch.

He was far too aware of his presence over his shoulder, the soft breath on the back of his neck or on his collarbone each time Grantaire leaned over to check the drawing from Enjolras's point of view. He had to repress the urge to turn his head toward him when Grantaire drew close, and instead only eyed his profile in his peripheral vision, or watched his hands as they gestured above his drawing to indicate the proper shape of the curve. He felt himself growing heated in his sweater, but he made no attempt to take it off, not wanting to let on that their closeness was affecting him.

An hour passed, far too long for what amounted to be a shape with a scribble of shadow running down it, the result of Grantaire's prolonged corrections and Enjolras's increasingly nervous fingers. “I think that's acceptable,” Grantaire said with satisfaction. “Any better and he might think I'm coaching you too much. But it's a lot better than your still life from Tuesday, so that's good.”

“Only because of you,” Enjolras mumbled.

“You shouldn’t have to be self-taught. It's not cheating to critique your… Hey, are you alright?”

Enjolras turned to him, realizing how uncomfortably close they had come to grazing noses as he did. “Hm?”

“You look flushed,” Grantaire said, leaning away with a bemused raise of his brows.

“I'm just a bit dizzy I think. It's probably… all that sun exposure today. I'm fine. Let's go on to the next one.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” Enjolras turned to a new blank page.

“Alright, let's see.” Grantaire consulted the list again. “Make a pencil sketch of a master portrait painting. Hmm.”

“He wants me to draw someone else's painting?” Enjolras asked. His confidence drawing ellipses had already been destroyed by a simple cylinder. Now he had to redraw a portrait by a master artist? He couldn't help but feel the difficulty level had risen exponentially, and he was already flustered enough.

“Yes. It's another observation test, he's probably checking your spatial awareness.” When Enjolras looked blankly at Grantaire, he continued his explanation. “If you told someone who didn't know how to draw to make a portrait, they'd draw an eye, and an eye, and a nose, and a mouth, and then they'd step back and realize it looked nothing like the person they tried to draw, because they weren't paying attention to how it all came together. Know what I mean?”

Enjolras shook his head.

Grantaire bit his lip, trying to figure out how to explain. “Think of it like this. You have to see a person as a whole.” He gestured to his own face, circling his hand around it while Enjolras watched in a daze. “Don't overanalyze the individual pieces. You can't just draw an eye or a nose, you have to see how everything relates to each other. Look at my face. How far does the brow arch over the eye?” he asked, tracing his fingertip across his brow. “How does the jaw line frame the features?” He drew his finger down to the corner of his jaw, dotted with stubble. “Where do the lips fall between the nose and chin?” His finger ran along his jaw to his lips, tracing over them slowly.

Enjolras wet his own lips subconsciously as he watched.

“Everything is interconnected,” Grantaire was saying, although his words seemed distant, even at close range. “It's all about relationships. Spatial awareness.”

Enjolras was vaguely aware how close he had leaned in towards Grantaire, and that he was still looking at his lips.

“Do you know what you might like to draw for this? Or who?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras's lips were parted, anticipating what might come next.

“...Enjolras?”

“Hm?” Enjolras finally snapped out of it and looked up.

“Maybe you should take a break. We can go to dinner.” Grantaire reached over and turned off the lamp. The room went dim, though there was still some evening light coming in through the window.

Enjolras realized, as he recovered from his trance with an uncomfortable squirm, that he had more pressing needs to attend to than dinner. “Ah, um. Maybe you should go on without me.”

“Alright,” Grantaire said, standing up. “I get it. You'd rather eat with your friends, I know.”

“No,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “I'm just…” He squeezed his legs together as surreptitiously as he could, casually pulling the sketchbook over his lap. “...exhausted. I think I'd like to lie down alone for a while.”

“Oh. Well I'll just leave you be then. We'll finish this later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras nodded.

“You want me to bring some dinner back to you?”

“It's fine, I’ll go later,” Enjolras said dismissively “And I still have some snacks from town.”

“Right, me too,” Grantaire said as he slipped on his shoes. “Maybe we can share them together.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras agreed distractedly, waiting for him to leave.

“See you later,” Grantaire said as he opened the door. “You can always tell me, you know. If you need some time alone.”

“Yes, alright,” Enjolras nodded quickly.

“Enjoy,” Grantaire said softly as he closed the door behind him.

Enjolras stared after him, taken aback by the remark. Could Grantaire possibly have known what he meant to do? _No,_ he assured himself. _He couldn't know._ It was a harmless comment, a coincidence.

He tossed aside the sketchbook and finally pulled off his sweater, freeing his overheated body. Then he looked to his bed, the sheets pulled back invitingly. All he wanted was to sprawl himself upon it and shimmy out of his confining pants. _But what if…_ What if Grantaire forgot his jacket. Or came back to check on him. Locking the door wouldn't do him any good, when Grantaire had his own key.

He turned to the bathroom. The shower would serve his needs, and this time he would allow something he had denied himself earlier that week. Closing and locking the bathroom door behind him, he stripped off his shirt and quickly unfastened his belt, dropping his pants and underwear. He stepped out of them, and refusing to look at his shameful state in the mirror, he turned on the water and slipped into the shower.

He shuddered as he felt the heat running down his body, though he wouldn't turn on the cold water to cool himself down this time. He needed release, he was nearly going mad. To think he had let Grantaire's presence affect him in such a way, it was ridiculous. Unthinkable. His body could hardly discern what he wanted and didn't want. _Hormones,_ he told himself. It was hormones telling him to latch onto the nearest warm body in his bedroom and nothing more. As soon as he took care of this, he was certain he would return to normal again.

Enjolras ran his hand down his belly to his cock, grasping it in his hand to his great relief. He let out a soft sigh and began to stroke himself, abandoning the delicate technique he had used last time in favor of a firmer hand. His eyes fluttered closed, and he cleared his mind of all thought, simply concentrating on alleviating the frustrating ache. But soon, against his will, thoughts began to creep back in.

He was sitting with Grantaire at his desk in the next room, listening to the same private art lesson, the scene replaying in his mind. Grantaire’s finger trailed across his lips once again as he spoke, and Enjolras watched attentively, dreamily. He leaned towards Grantaire, their noses just barely apart, so close he could feel his body heat. Then suddenly, bravely, Enjolras surged forward, all caution thrown aside, and kissed him. And though Enjolras had never kissed before, it would have been so easy, and so-

_No._

He paused for just a moment, spooked by his own thoughts. But they had only made him feel more aroused, the pleasurable anticipation spreading through his veins from head to toe. Why was his body betraying him in such a way, taking such joy in this horrible, forbidden imagery?

He shook his head and continued stroking his cock, leaning back against the shower wall. The tiles were cold compared to the warm water and it sent a pleasant shiver up his spine as he pressed against them. He tried to conjure up a fantasy in his mind, a change of scenery to distract from his unwanted visions. Something completely new and far away, a place he had never been. He imagined the cold tiles were now... a ritual altar, a stone slab where he lay, and behind his closed eyes he was... an offering, yes, the young Grecian martyr sacrificing his innocence up to the gods. He was exposed, a golden youth laid bare to the sky, alone but for… a satyr running across the field, a flash of wild hair… and now Enjolras was back in the dorm room that morning, watching Grantaire sitting up in bed unclothed, his hair mussed, the blankets falling away to reveal his broad shoulders and bare chest and-

 _Stop!_ he thought angrily, cursing himself. His thoughts were uncontrollable. _It’s... it’s the close quarters with him, that’s all. I'm going stir crazy,_ he decided, even though he had never felt such strange emotions when rooming with Courfeyrac, or heaven forbid, Montparnasse.

After a moment of quiet, as if he were waiting for the danger to pass, he let his hand resume its motions, fingers sliding up the shaft, his thumb massaging the head. He found the place on the underside of his cock that made him moan like Montparnasse as the pads of his fingers brushed over it, and he covered his mouth, embarrassed at the sound he made.

And then, a new thought came into his head, and the noises that would carry down the hall that night would not be from the room across the way but their own, as Grantaire would get down between his legs and use his mouth to-

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck no._

But Enjolras didn't stop to clear his mind this time, his hand moving faster and faster, incensed by the mutiny in his head. It was unfair, how even alone he couldn't escape Grantaire. If he wasn't in the room, than he was on his mind. _I hate him,_ he tried to remind himself. He was panting and he leaned into the corner of the shower, his free hand pressing against the wall as he stroked himself harder. _I hate him in my room. I hate him getting close to me… I hate him touching my hands… I hate the way he… I hate... Grantaire... I..._ He came, spending himself with a cry that echoed on the shower walls, and as he rode the final wave of pleasure, one last thing flitted through his head and vanished an instant later. _I should have kissed him._

Then, like the clouds parting, all of the maddening thoughts retreated and he was left staring blankly as he watched the mess he had made slowly dripping down the tile wall. Ashamed, he tilted the showerhead to expedite the process and wash it down the drain. _It's done,_ he told himself as he watched it disappear. _No more of this._ He would be back to normal, now that he had extracted some sort of darkness that lay within him.

With a deep, cleansing breath, he stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel. He saw Grantaire's towel hanging beside his and wondered, for a fleeting moment, if Grantaire had also used their shower for the same purpose that Enjolras just had... but no, he wouldn't think about that. It wasn't his concern as long as the bathroom stayed clean.

He dried himself off and pulled his clothes back on, feeling numb. It was as if he had been in a fight, and needed time to process what had happened. But the battle was only inside his head, and he didn't want to reflect on what he had just done. He would lock it away in his mind and try to forget instead. It was merely a rare moment of delirium from staying up too late, from being influenced by the debauchery next door. He'd make up for it and get more sleep this coming night.

He left the bathroom and sat down on his bed to put on his shoes and socks, vowing to banish Grantaire from his mind whenever they were apart from now on. But as he stood up to retrieve his dorm key from the desk, he saw the drawing of Lamarque, and picked it up, studying it. Grantaire had drawn him before, an art class joke, but this one wasn't like that. His features were tiny on the page where he sat at Lamarque's feet, but great care was taken in the details, every pencil mark a fine line. His relationship with Grantaire was varyingly infuriating and confusing, but Enjolras had to admit that his art was certainly beautiful by itself. Wanting to protect the sketch from his busy desk area, and keep it where he could continue to see it, he took a few pieces of tape and hung it over his bed. Then, pushing his damp hair out of his face, he locked up the room and headed to dinner, deciding with certainty he was now cured of all previous temptations. Grantaire was a talented artist, his roommate, and perhaps his tutor, but nothing more.

When Enjolras reached the cafeteria, he found Grantaire sitting at the same table as his friends, though only half of them were present. He soon found out, as he set his tray down across from Combeferre and Grantaire, that the rest had eaten early and were off playing football out on the field as the sun set. “I asked Grantaire to join us,” Combeferre continued, in an authoritative tone aimed at Enjolras. “He's always off sitting by himself.”

“I've noticed,” Enjolras said, meeting Grantaire's eyes for a moment, but then averting them towards the windows, not ready to test himself yet. He had vowed those kind of thoughts were over, but the humiliation was still fresh.

“Grantaire was telling me he was helping you with your art,” Combeferre prompted.

“You can't call it art,” Enjolras mumbled, eating a slice of potato. “It's basic training far below senior level.”

“We’ll get there,” Grantaire encouraged. “We can do this everyday, if need be.”

 _God, please, no,_ Enjolras thought to himself as he stared at the lake out the window, the water sparkling orange and pink in the dying sunlight. He wouldn't be able to take that kind of stress. “You'll want to rescind that offer once they post the cast list for Hamlet and you're on it,” he said. “You won't want to work on my homework on top of your own, after rehearsals.”

“I might not be cast,” Grantaire shook his head. “I'm sure they give precedence to the students they know and trust in the theater program.”

Marius stuck out his head, leaning across Jehan toward their end of the table. “Are you talking about Hamlet? I thought we agreed not to bring that up over the weekend,” he said indignantly.

“There was no such agreement,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Just because you've embargoed all thoughts on the subject doesn't mean we have to.” Marius harrumphed and leaned back in his seat. Enjolras stuck out his tongue playfully and turned back to his dinner.

“You're feeling better then?” Grantaire asked softly with a faint smile, watching him.

Enjolras looked up at him and then back down at his food again quickly, nodding dismissively.

“Showers always make me feel better too.”

Enjolras's eyes darted up again, suspicious. “How did you-”

“Your hair’s wet,” Grantaire said with a laugh, giving Enjolras a perplexed smile.

“Right. Of course,” Enjolras said, shaking his head.

“I think we should go to the library after dinner,” Grantaire suggested, eating a bite of cake. “You can get a book of paintings and find a portrait for your assignment.”

“Oh, yes. That,” Enjolras agreed, stabbing another potato with his fork. Grantaire wanted to come along, he assumed, to help him pick out an appropriate painting. “Fine. I want to get this assignment out of the way.”

After dinner, they headed over to the library and into the Art section, a corner of the library Enjolras had never needed to visit in his previous years. They combed the shelves together, and with almost no one in the library on Saturday night, talking aloud wasn't a problem. “Hmm… you're looking for Renaissance period and later.” Grantaire said. “Anything made before that won't be realistic enough for the assignment. They weren't exactly concerned with anatomy in ancient times.” He snorted, and corrected himself. “I mean, drawing it correctly. Clearly the Greeks _were_ concerned with anatomy. Hey, I wonder if there's a copy of your little book here...”

“Shut up,”’ Enjolras snapped, resenting the fact that Grantaire had called it _his_ book. _I want nothing to do with that kind of art._ He shook his head. “It is a shame though, I feel I’d have an easier time with recreating something that's already poorly constructed.” He showed Grantaire a book he was holding on medieval art, indicating a rather laughable painting of Mary and Jesus.

“Oh no, put that away,” Grantaire said, shaking his head. “You don't want that. The dark ages were a horrible time for art.”

“Exactly,” Enjolras reasoned.

“No,” Grantaire laughed. “I won't let you do that to yourself. Besides, the assignment was clearly looking for a painting where a real live person actually posed for it.”

“I still don't understand why I have to do this,” Enjolras sighed.

“Because he wants you to learn how to draw a face, and our next assignment is a painted portrait. He wants you to study one carefully before you attempt your own,” Grantaire said as he flipped through a book.

“Oh, yeah.” Enjolras frowned and put the medieval art book back on the shelf. “You should paint mine,” he said sarcastically, giving him a sidelong look. “You've had the practice.”

Grantaire's cheeks turned pink, a pleased smile on his face, though he bit his lip as if trying to hide it. “Too bad it isn't a partner project then. You could do whatever you wanted to me. I'd like to see that.”

“No, you wouldn't,” Enjolras corrected, taking down another book. “I'd make you look hideous.”

“Are you saying I'm not?” he teased.

Enjolras ignored him and presented the book he was holding. “I think this is the one we’re looking for.” It was a book of various historical figures, posing for their expensive oil-painted portraits.

“Perfect,” Grantaire agreed.

They walked back side by side in the dark, Enjolras with the book under his arm. Most of the other students had already returned to their dorm rooms for the night, and the campus was quiet save for the crickets chirping in the bushes.

“Did you mind me sitting with your friends at dinner?” Grantaire asked, almost apologetic in his tone.

“No, I didn't mind,” Enjolras said, wondering if he was being truthful himself. He knew that he felt guilty, though. This was what Valjean had been asking him to do from the beginning, to invite Grantaire into the circle, but it had been Combeferre to finally extend an offer. Enjolras supposed his ABC dinner invitation hadn't counted; it certainly wasn't his idea, nor had it gone over well.

“I don't want to get in your way or anything, but... it was nice. To be sitting with everyone.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, his eyes cast down at the sidewalk. “I love my friends. They're good people. You… can sit with them more often, if you want,” he suggested, attempting to extend his own offer. “If you behave yourself.”

“I just might,” Grantaire said, amused. “Thank you.”

And to his surprise, Enjolras felt a touch at his shoulder. He looked up to see Grantaire had draped an arm across him, like Courfeyrac did sometimes when he wanted to lean on Enjolras and Combeferre when they walked together. But Courfeyrac was one of his best friends, and Grantaire was something else entirely. Besides, his touch was making Enjolras remember a few things from that evening he had vowed not to think about. He turned towards Grantaire, a pained look on his face.

Grantaire met his gaze, and then released him after he processed Enjolras's expression. “Sorry,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets guiltily. “Didn't mean to-”

“Don't worry about it,” Enjolras said, shaking his head and staring back down at the ground awkwardly, embarrassment heating his cheeks. “As I said, I'm just… exhausted. I'd like to go to bed early tonight, if that's alright.”

“Sure.”

Back in the room, Enjolras changed into his pajamas and then set the book of paintings down on the bed, laying on his belly and paging through it slowly, trying to find something he liked enough to draw. All of them looked far too challenging to attempt, and he grimaced as he flipped through it. “Look at these people,” he commented idly to Grantaire, who was getting ready for bed on his side of the room. “Covering themselves in gold and jewels to get their portrait painted, it's ridiculous. Like they put on everything they owned. We get it, you're rich.”

“They only had a few chances to be immortalized, without photography,” Grantaire said. “Might as well show off what they got. And aren’t you rich too? I bet there’s a fancy portrait of baby Enjolras somewhere in your parents’ house.”

“There isn’t,” Enjolras said indignantly, even though there was. “Anyway, these are all too complicated. I can't draw any of these.”

“Here,” Grantaire said, walking across the room as he was pulling on a pajama shirt. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over Enjolras, turning the pages to contemplate each portrait. “Let’s see...no… no…that’s a little too hard...mm...this one?”

It was King Louis XIV, with long flowing hair and pencil mustache. Enjolras shook his head.

“No? No. Okay, how about…hmmm…not that...” He turned a few more pages, then saw one that made him laugh. “This one. Perfect.”

“What?” Enjolras said, curling his lip. It was an overly opulent round-faced man wearing white furs and a thick crown of golden leaves like a Greco-Roman deity. “Who…? No,” he said indignantly as he saw the label beneath the painting. “Napoleon has enough portraits of himself.”

“But look, this one’s simple,” Grantaire argued. “It’s a symmetrical front view. You can ignore the costume and just do the face.”

“I don’t _like_ Napoleon,” Enjolras complained.

“Well, this way you won’t feel bad when you draw an ugly picture of him,” Grantaire said plainly. Enjolras looked up at him, and Grantaire’s face fell. “Oh. Oh sorry, that was rude of me, I... I didn’t mean that, uh, it would necessarily be-”

But Enjolras grinned, letting out a laugh. “No. You’re right,” he said. “It’s not like I’ll be doing him justice. Fine, ugly Napoleon it is.”

“Good,” Grantaire said, pleased he hadn’t hurt Enjolras’s feelings.

Enjolras reached for the sketchbook on his desk, pulling it over to him on the bed. “But let me try it on my own for a while,” he told Grantaire. He didn’t want another harrowing drawing lesson like the one that afternoon.

“No problem.” Grantaire started to turn away, but then stopped as he saw his own drawing taped to the wall above Enjolras’s bed. “You like it that much?” he asked with a shy smile.

“Oh. Yes, I do,” Enjolras admitted, looking between Grantaire and the drawing. “Thank you, for letting me have it. And… and the sketchbook, too.”

“You’re welcome” Grantaire said, his smile growing wider. “I have something else to share with you from town, if it… uh… interests you,” he added casually, wandering back towards his side of the room.

“What’s that?” Enjolras asked, resting his chin on his hand.

Grantaire sat down on his bed, and picked up the shopping bag he had set there when they came back from town. He reached his hand in and slowly pulled something out.

Enjolras’s pleasant mood dissipated. “You can’t have that in here,” he hissed.

“I know,” Grantaire continued to grin, looking fondly at the bottle of wine in his hand. “You said you didn’t think I could find trouble in town, and well, we’re not exactly in town anymore but…”

“I wasn’t _challenging_ you, Grantaire,” Enjolras growled, sitting up. “Did you steal that?”

“I’m of age,” Grantaire said importantly. “Bought it at a wine shop.”

“Well you can’t have it in the dorms, it’s against the _rules,_ Grantaire.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want any…” Grantaire teased.

“No!” Enjolras huffed. “Get that out of our room, or they’ll blame me too!”

“What do you think they’ll do?” Grantaire asked, enjoying the scandal. His eyes were bright as he waved the bottle teasingly. “Expel me, maybe? Alcohol in the dorms, drunk in class...”

“ _Stop_ it,” Enjolras said, feeling stressed all over again. “Stop talking like that!”

“I’m just wondering…” Grantaire said innocently, his eyes turned upward.

“You keep saying these kinds of things. Either stay or leave the school but it’s not some sort of _joke._ This is your life. Why do you care so little?”

“Why do you care so much?” Grantaire countered.

Enjolras chose not to dignify him with an answer, and instead got up from the bed and went over to him, attempting to pry the bottle from his hands.

“Hey. Hey-hey-hey,” Grantaire protested, gripping it tightly. “Don’t.”

“Give it to me!” Enjolras pulled at his fingers as Grantaire tried to push him away with his feet.

“No!”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras demanded through gritted teeth as he fought. “Put... the bottle... down.”

Grantaire managed to wrest it away, and grabbed Enjolras’s arm with one strong hand, twisting it away.

“Owwww,” Enjolras whined, brought down to his knees as he wrenched his arm away in defeat.

“Don’t worry,” Grantaire promised, ruffling Enjolras's hair. “I’ll hide it where it won’t be found.”

“I should report you,” Enjolras said through clenched teeth.

“The sooner I can leave,” Grantaire shrugged as if he welcomed it.

“Then why bother hiding it?” Enjolras asked defiantly, getting to his feet. “If you want to get expelled then hurry up and get yourself expelled. I’m waiting.”

Grantaire’s expression sobered, his mirth leaving him.

“Well?” Enjolras pressed.

“I guess I…” Grantaire shook his head uncertainly. “I sometimes feel like I’m too scared to make something happen myself. And that I’d rather let the forces that be handle that. Whether it’s the school, a teacher, I don’t know, it could be _you,_ or anything else that intervenes. Until then I should stay where I am. I’ll set up a trail of dominoes, and see if they eventually fall.”

“Tempting fate. Because you don’t know what you want to happen anymore,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms and looking down at him. “That’s what this is really about.”

“More or less,” Grantaire shrugged. There was a sadness in his eyes as he said it.

Enjolras was silent for a moment. Then he gave in with a sigh, pitying him against his better judgement. “Hide the bottle. I don’t want to see it again,” he said quietly. “You’d do well to get rid of it, before they catch you. I won’t take responsibility for your actions.”

“Got it,” Grantaire said, watching as Enjolras returned to his bed. “So...that means you won’t be sharing a drink with me?”

“ _Grantaire,_ ” Enjolras said in exasperation as he sat back down with his sketchbook.

“Right, right,” Grantaire smiled faintly. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Enjolras spent the rest of the night sprawled on his bed, agitatedly drawing what, in his opinion, seemed to be the world's worst portrait of Napoleon. He kept in mind what Grantaire had tried to teach him earlier, to look at the whole instead of the individual features, in order to fit the pieces together like a puzzle.

“You sure you don't want help?” Grantaire asked from his bed.

“I'm fine. I just want to work on it a little more and call it done,” Enjolras said, spinning the pencil in his fingers. “I have other homework to get through tomorrow.”

“Any more drawings?”

“Yes, one.” He reached over for the paper lying on his desk. “‘Sketch a landscape from life.’” He looked up at Grantaire for advice.

“Let's go out to the lake tomorrow,” Grantaire suggested. "That'll work.”

“Okay,” Enjolras nodded. “But Grantaire…”

“Hm?”

“Can you...can you try not to cause anymore trouble? Please?”

“That's a hard promise to make,” Grantaire teased with a smirk. “You never know, with me.”

“Tomorrow. Just one quiet day, please,” Enjolras asked in resignation.

“Sure. Just for you, since you're asking so nicely,” Grantaire said, laying back on his bed and stretching out. “I'll be such a good boy tomorrow you'll forget you don't like me.”

Enjolras frowned at him, wondering if he should refute, or assure him that it wasn't true. But their relationship was so uncertain that Enjolras didn't want to prompt a conversation about something he didn't understand. “Thank you,” he said simply, attempting a smile.

“But don’t get used to it. On Monday the trouble starts all over again,” Grantaire joked.

Enjolras laughed despite himself, turning back to his drawing of Napoleon. “Of course.”

The next day, Grantaire was true to his word. After a good night’s sleep and a lazy Sunday morning breakfast, the two of them headed together to the lake. Enjolras sat down beneath a tree, leaning against the trunk and propping the sketchbook on his knees, while Grantaire lay on his back in the grass beside him with The Iliad. The paper bag of chocolate truffles was nestled between them. Enjolras hadn’t the faintest clue how to begin his drawing but after a few helpful pointers from Grantaire he was scribbling away, feeling far more at peace than he had during his other art assignments. Perhaps it was being outdoors that calmed him, hearing the birds chirping in the tree above them and seeing the morning sunlight sparkling on the lake. Or maybe it was the fact that landscapes turned out to be far less demanding in precision, his ambiguous pencil marks actually enhancing the visual effect. Or possibly it was because Grantaire was carrying out his promise, and had been quiet and well-behaved all morning.

“It's nice, isn't it?” Enjolras asked after a long moment of quiet.

Grantaire set his book down on his belly and looked over at Enjolras's sketch. “It's the best drawing you've done so far,” he commented approvingly.

“I didn't mean that,” Enjolras said, shying at the praise. “I meant, today. Being out here is nice.”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, gazing up at him. “Everything is beautiful today.”

“Sometimes I wish I could go out there,” he said, nodding to two students who were slowly rowing a boat on the far side of the lake.

“Haven't you before?” Grantaire asked, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up.

“I did a few times when I was younger. But I haven't had the time in these past couple of years. I'll think about it, but then I remember I have ten other things to do.”

“Why don't we go, when you're finished with your sketch?” Grantaire suggested, reaching into the bag for a chocolate.

“No, no,” Enjolras shook his head. “Forget it. I've wasted so much time on this art assignment and I still have math and English to take care of after this. If I finish those, I'll start on Tuesday's work.”

“Sometime, then,” Grantaire decided. “I'd like to go out on the lake too.”

“Don't let me hold you back,” Enjolras said as he added the little boat onto his sketch of the lake. “Feel free.”

“No,” Grantaire said softly. It's something I'd like to do with you.”

Enjolras looked over at him, contemplating. “...Alright,” he agreed, uncertain but willing. “We’ll go sometime.”

“Why not Friday?” Grantaire continued. “You shouldn't have to do homework on Friday night, you can take one evening off. Unless of course, you have some big important dinner to go to. You know, the kind you have to interview for in advance to find out if you're worthy enough-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted, a gentle reprimand. “You promised me, remember?”

“Mhm,” Grantaire replied back indifferently, picking up his book again. “You got it, Enj.”

When it was quiet again, Enjolras stole a glance at Grantaire, lying beside him. He was concentrating on his book, unaware of Enjolras’s gaze. His wild, dark hair curled around him, spread out in the grass, and Enjolras fought the urge to rest a hand on his head in praise. He liked Grantaire like this, calm and controlled, and gone were Enjolras’s nerves and desperation from the day before. It seemed he was cured of his affliction after all.

Enjolras’s wish for an uneventful day thankfully came true. After lunch, they went back to the dorms to finish their homework, and by the end of the day, everything was ready for Monday’s classes. Enjolras was almost proud of the sketchbook contents he would be presenting to Bamatabois. Maybe his Napoleon portrait was a bit of a crooked mess, but his landscape actually looked like the familiar view of the campus lake, and Grantaire's tutelage had helped the cylinder look halfway decent, despite Enjolras’s emotional turmoil during its creation.

When the lights were off and they were both in their beds, Enjolras spoke out softly in the darkness. “Thank you for all your help this weekend.”

“It's no problem, Enj,” came the reply on the other side of the room.

“I don’t think I’d be able to survive this class without you.”

“Like I said, any time you want me to, I'll help you.”

“As long as you're still here,” Enjolras corrected, unable to stop himself.

“As long as I'm still here,” Grantaire confirmed.

Enjolras stared up at the ceiling. “You’re not _really_ going to go back to causing trouble again, are you? Today…today was nice.”

“Trouble, what is this trouble you speak of? I haven’t done a thing,” Grantaire said, feigning innocence.

Enjolras tried to keep himself from smiling, letting out a soft breath of exasperation. “...Goodnight, Grantaire.”

“Goodnight, Enj.”

Later that night, when Enjolras was soundly sleeping, a satyr that looked remarkably like Grantaire danced through his dreams.


	5. An Unexpected Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the sad feelings you may experience, proceed with caution if you were hoping to be cheered up. I promise things will get better soon though.
> 
> [The map](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) if you want. (open in a new tab as well)

The next morning, Enjolras woke up feeling at peace, even with the alarm clock ringing loudly near his ear. A glow of happiness had settled over him, though he had no idea why. He suspected it was his dream, but he couldn't remember any of it, save for the fact that Grantaire may have been in it. He looked over at him, still stirring sleepily, and gave a faint smile. Grantaire wasn't so bad after all, he had been so helpful and kind the day before. Maybe Enjolras really would find time for that boat ride together later.

The hazy, giddy feeling he had woken up with eventually dissipated as he dressed and left the dorm, but he still felt relaxed, which was a nice change from the previous week. The same could not be said for the rest of the school, which he soon found out was abuzz with anticipation. All through breakfast, Mathematics, and English, Enjolras heard whispers from worried students, wondering when the cast list for Hamlet would be posted. Even those who hadn't auditioned were nervous, curious to know the fates of their friends. “What if Marius gets the worst part?” Courfeyrac leaned over to whisper in Thenardier’s class. “I'll never hear the end of it.”

Then at lunchtime, Enjolras saw as he approached with Combeferre and Courfeyrac that a herd of boys were gathered in the foyer of the Great Hall, pushing each other over to gain access to the bulletin board. Jehan was on the outskirts, frowning. He was standing there with his violin case, having just gotten out of orchestra class. “I can't get in to see,” he said in frustration.

“Look,” Courfeyrac said, pointing to the center of the crowd. “Marius made it through.”

Marius was currently running his finger down the list, and from behind they saw him stiffen and slowly turn around, his face pale. He floated through the crowd, his eyes distant as he made his way over to them.

“What? What is it?” Courfeyrac insisted.

“Did… did you not make it?” Enjolras asked.

“No… I did,” Marius said slowly.

“Then what are you!?” Jehan demanded.

“I'm the villain,” Marius said, horrorstruck, and Courfeyrac dissolved into giggles.

Enjolras grinned. “I look forward to seeing your evil side.”

“I wanted that part,” Jehan pouted. “Did you at least see if I was on the list?”

“Yes,” Marius turned slowly to him. “You're my wife.”

Jehan turned pink. “The queen? Let me see,” he said, pushing through the crowd with his instrument to confirm the news for himself.

Enjolras's thoughts turned back to Grantaire, wondering if he had made the list. He didn't see him in the crowd trying to find out, but Grantaire hadn't seemed too concerned about it over the weekend. Then Enjolras saw a convenient gap in the mob of students and slipped in. “Yesssss,” Montparnasse said to himself as he passed by on his way out. Enjolras saw Bahorel emerge and grab Montparnasse's arm. “Good job, Ophelia,” he said, his voice low and just loud enough for Enjolras to overhear, before releasing Montparnasse and disappearing back into the crowd. Enjolras averted his eyes with a sigh, now putting together why Bahorel had cancelled football practice to watch the auditions. He tried not to imagine what sort of debauchery might happen later with Montparnasse in that white dress.

Enjolras reached the board, his eyes scanning down the list haphazardly, searching for Grantaire’s name. He didn't see it. For some reason he felt a twinge of disappointment, as if he had been let down too. This meant that Grantaire would have less to tie him to the school, should he put more serious consideration into leaving. Enjolras was turning to go, when he heard another boy beside him say, “Who's that playing Hamlet?”

“I've never heard of him,” came a response.

Enjolras turned back to the board, and separated a little above the other names, at the top of the list where Enjolras had missed it, was Grantaire. And then, relief. He had made it after all, the _lead_ role, and with a nod of satisfaction, Enjolras made his way back to his friends and into the cafeteria, feeling unusually cheerful.

He didn't see Grantaire until he was walking to the fine arts building after Father Myriel’s class that afternoon. “Congratulations,” he told him as he joined Grantaire on the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” Grantaire said with a bemused smile. “For what?”

“For Hamlet?” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!” Grantaire brightened. “Nice. Who am I playing?”

Enjolras stopped walking. Clearly Grantaire hadn't seen yet. “Hamlet,” Enjolras repeated slowly. He waited for the information to sink in.

“What?” Grantaire blinked, turning to him. “Oh my god!” Suddenly brimming with excitement and clearly grateful for the news, he pulled Enjolras into a hug.

“Oof,” Enjolras grunted as he was squeezed, pressed against his chest, but the shock of intimate contact wore off as quickly as it came. He relaxed in Grantaire’s arms and smiled, patting him gently on the back. “How did you not know? It was posted at lunch.”

Grantaire pulled back, his hands on Enjolras's shoulders. “I, uh, had to go to the office, it's nothing,” he shook his head dismissively.

“The office? It's only been half a day and you've already found trouble?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don't waste any time, do you?”

“No, no. Don't worry about it,” Grantaire assured him, quickly changing the subject back. “Hamlet though? Really?”

Enjolras was still curious about the office, but he nodded. “Now you can't leave,” he pointed out. “It would be hard to put on a play without a leading man.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire grinned. “I suppose so.”

“C’mon,” Enjolras urged to keep them walking to class.

“A-are you sure?” Grantaire asked in disbelief as they entered the fine arts building. “They cast a new kid in the title role?”

“If you don't believe me then see for yourself. Look, there,” Enjolras pointed to where another copy of the list was pinned up on the board in the entranceway. He let Grantaire marvel at it for a moment before he tugged him away to the art classroom.

To Enjolras's great relief, Bamatabois seemed to be pleased with the sketchbook drawings as he reviewed them. While he still managed to remind Enjolras a few times over that he was out of his depth, he admitted it was quite a step up from last week and that he hoped to see the improvements continue. There would be another set of drawings to do for next weekend, though Enjolras expected as much. Still, as Bamatabois moved on to begin the lesson, Enjolras decided he would be slightly less miserable this class period, now that he felt a little more armed and prepared by Grantaire's lessons. He glanced over at a broadly smiling Grantaire and gave him a nod of thanks.

“Today you will be starting your self portraits. They can be realistic, surrealistic, abstract, but they must represent you. Think about how you see yourself, and how you want others to see you.”

They were sent to the easels, where there were canvases propped up and mirrors clipped to the side. The portrait would eventually be a painting, but today they were simply meant to work on the sketch. Enjolras spent the class period staring at his face in the mirror and trying to figure out how to go about his portrait. In the end he decided that simply trying to draw himself as is was the best route; he wasn't exactly creative enough to try anything else.

Grantaire wandered away from his easel during a break and saw that Enjolras had yet to start. “Here's a tip,” he said, pointing to the canvas. “When you're sketching it out make sure the eyes are a third of the way down from the top. Right here,” he said, drawing an invisible line with his finger tip.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said. “What about you, have you come up with any ideas?”

“I think I'm going to draw myself as Hamlet. It seems fitting, although tomorrow I might wake up and think of something else. We have a long time with this project so don't worry too much if you can't think of anything yet.”

They heard the tinny ringing of a telephone, and Bamatabois slipped into his office to answer it.

“Do you want me to help you start off?” Grantaire whispered. “I could get a silhouette down pretty fast if you need it.”

“No,” Enjolras shook his head. “I want to try this on my own.”

“You sure? He wouldn't have to know.”

“Positive,” Enjolras assured him. “I don't need help, at least not this early.”

“Alright, well just let me know if you do.”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” came Bamatabois’s voice from the office, speaking into the phone. He hung up then, and returned, heading straight for Enjolras. “You're to go to the office right after class, Enjolras. The headmaster wants to speak with you.”

“O-oh, okay,” Enjolras said, nodding to Bamatabois. This was new. Valjean had never called to request him personally before, and he had no idea what it could be about. He remembered that Grantaire had mentioned going to the office earlier, but when Enjolras turned to ask him about it, he merely went back to his easel, a grim expression on his face. Enjolras stared after him, confused.

“Start sketching, Enjolras,” Bamatabois said impatiently, his arms crossed. “It won't draw itself.”

By the end of the class period, Enjolras had managed a feather-light sketch, a ghostly outline of where he might place his features on the canvas. “I'll see you at the room later then, yeah?” he asked Grantaire as he shouldered his bag.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, his expression showing a hint of sadness. “See you then.”

Enjolras slowly walked across the courtyard to the administration building, wondering what this could be about. Suddenly he had a strange thought. Could Grantaire have gone to the office to say he wanted to go home after all? And was this meeting somehow related? _Enjolras, your roommate will be leaving the school. We’ll be needing that payment for the single bedroom after all,_ he imagined Valjean saying. But the scene didn't make sense, considering Grantaire's excitement over the casting announcement. He hadn't looked like someone who had just decided to leave the school. Perhaps their office visits were unrelated, but still, there was something in the way Grantaire had looked at the end of art class that unnerved him.

“Come in,” Valjean said solemnly when Enjolras knocked tentatively on his door. The headmaster gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Enjolras dropped his bag and slipped into it, his heart fluttering anxiously in his chest. “You wanted to see me, headmaster?” he asked.

“Yes,” Valjean replied. There was no warmth in his eyes. “I needed to speak to you on the matter of the ABC Society dinner this past Friday.”

Enjolras was taken aback. “Yes?” he asked, caught off guard.

“I was informed of an incident that occurred between you and Monsieur Grantaire.”

Enjolras felt his heart plummeting, his body frozen in place on the chair.

“And that you told him,” Valjean continued after a pause, “that he was only there upon my request, and was otherwise unwelcome at your table.”

Had Enjolras said that? Those couldn't have been his exact words. But he vaguely recalled narrowing his eyes at Grantaire and saying _Valjean made me, I don't want you here at all,_ which was in essence the same thing, no matter how it was phrased.

“Is this true?” Valjean asked, waiting for a response.

Enjolras stared down at the desk, before mustering up all the courage he could to look Valjean in the eye. “Sir... it’s... it’s true, yes.”

He saw Valjean frown, disheartened.

“B-but sir,” Enjolras hastened to say, “now Grantaire... Grantaire and I… we’re getting along...” His words slowed, his eyes suddenly darting to the floor as it dawned upon him how Valjean could have known this. Enjolras had been so wrapped up in how he felt about Grantaire that he hadn’t put much thought into how Grantaire felt about him. And here he was, finding out that however civil things had been over the weekend, maybe Grantaire was not willing to let Friday night’s events be forgotten.

_I thought... I thought we were enjoying each other’s company… I thought maybe we were even friends, now…_

But Enjolras remembered how easily he had threatened to report him for the wine. Was it so unexpected that Grantaire would follow Enjolras’s example, and report him for his bad behavior?

Enjolras wilted, and it was dead silent in the office. _I don’t understand... Why is this happening?_

Finally, Valjean spoke up. “As you can imagine, I am not pleased to hear this. Especially considering we had discussed this matter twice already since school began. Here we are a third time and there has been no improvement. I must tell you that my faith in your capability for compassion has been shaken.”

Enjolras opened his mouth, his composure slipping away. “Sir, I am so sorry about this, truly. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“It won’t happen again,” Valjean agreed. “I’ve decided that I now need to reevaluate the merits of having such an exclusive club as the ABC Society here at Corinthe.”

“What… what do you mean, sir?” Enjolras asked, eyes wide.

“I mean, I am considering that the club may be due for disbandment. It's been around for a long time, I know, but it is possible it has outlived its purpose. I’m not pleased with what has happened here, and I'm beginning to wonder if this sort of organization might be an unhealthy influence on the young minds of today.”

Enjolras’s mouth fell open. He shook his head. “Headmaster...p lease…”

“I’m afraid of what kind of attitude it might be encouraging, Enjolras. I feel as if I’ve had to ask for your cooperation with inclusion one too many times thus far. Is this the sort of exclusive mentality the ABC club has ingrained in you? Do you think this is how a student of Corinthe should conduct himself?”

“Please, sir, it wasn’t just me, at the dinner,” Enjolras said, recovering as much strength as he could after the shock. “It was Grantaire too, both of us, we were having an argument that got out of hand. I know I should never have said those things but it’s a personal matter. The ABC Society has nothing to do with this. Headmaster, please, I beg you to reconsider.”

“I will make sure to give this careful thought, however until I make a decision, you may consider the club on suspension until further notice. I will let you know when I have made up my mind.”

“Y-yes, sir…” Enjolras said, the words difficult to force out of his tightening throat. _I will not cry in the headmaster’s office,_ he reminded himself, even as he realized the most important thing he had at Corinthe was being taken away from him, something he had never thought possible before. He was trembling, and he laced his hands together, squeezing them tightly to stop them from shaking.

“I don’t want to have this conversation again, Enjolras. I expected so much more from you,” he said, heaving a sigh of exhaustion. “Any further behavioral incidents and I’m afraid we will have to look into disciplinary measures that extend beyond the ABC Society.”

Enjolras tried to speak but no sound escaped his throat. He simply nodded and looked down, ashamed, squeezing his hands tighter. He wasn't sure what was worse, the uncertain fate of the ABC Society or Valjean's utter loss of faith in him.

“I am sorry that such things need to be said,” Valjean said, seeming truly saddened, his old eyes tired.

“I’m s-sorry, too,” Enjolras said hoarsely. “Deeply sorry. I never meant to disappoint you, sir.”

“I know,” Valjean sighed, raising his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “See to it that this is the last time, Enjolras. You may go.”

Enjolras shakily stood up, silently scooping up his bag in a daze and leaving the office with as much dignity as he could manage. As he stepped outside, he realized how nauseated he felt and gasped in the fresh air, though he didn’t dare pause in front of the building, wanting to get as far away from it as possible.

 _How could this have happened?_ Enjolras asked himself, heart thrumming as he walked mechanically to the dorms. The ABC Society suddenly suspended, pending cancellation just like that. It wasn’t just a simple dinner club, it was how he had met and made his best friends. It was a legacy of Corinthe, a society that had been around since the school was built. Connections and careers could depend on it. It had been carefully entrusted to him by the students who had graduated before him, and now it was being dismantled, all because of him.

 _No,_ he thought to himself, clenching his jaw. _Because of Grantaire._ If Grantaire had never told Valjean what happened... if he had never come to the dinner… if he had never been sent to this school, everything would have been fine. But it wasn’t, because Grantaire had gone and ruined everything. How could Enjolras have expected anything else?

_But why, Grantaire, why have you done this? I thought things were better between us… I thought I was starting to like you… You smiled at me today..._

The strangest thing was it didn't even sound like something Grantaire would do. Enjolras wanted, so badly, to believe he was mistaken, and maybe it was someone else but, no, how could it be? He remembered the look Grantaire had given him as he was leaving art class. He had _known_ what was about to happen. And he hadn't said a word about it.

Enjolras let out a bitter laugh of disbelief. Not only was the ABC Society in jeopardy, but he was on behavioral probation as well, as if he were a member of Patron-Minette. What would his parents say, if they knew? Would Valjean call and tell them? It was unthinkable. All of this for something that had seemed so far behind him now...

He climbed up the dormitory stairs and slowly walked to his room, passing the closed doors of his friends, who had probably already gone to dinner. He wouldn’t be able to tell them what had happened, he couldn’t, not yet anyway, when he could barely even process what was happening. He wasn’t ready to explain how he had let everyone down, all because he and Grantaire couldn’t get along.

He found the door to their bedroom unlocked and slowly pushed it open. Grantaire was taping something to the wall above his desk, smoothing it out. It was the crumpled Hamlet drawing. He looked up with fear in his eyes as he saw Enjolras standing motionless in the doorway. They stared at each other for a moment, before Grantaire managed to break the silence. “What happened?” he asked timidly.

Enjolras continued to stare, wanting to go back to earlier that day, when he had been happy, before he knew Grantaire had betrayed him. But now it could never be undone. And as much as he wanted to know why, he couldn't bring himself to speak. Grantaire hadn't bothered to talk to him about any of this, after all. _I could have reported you, too,_ he thought in retribution. _I could have told him that you’re hiding alcohol in here, right then. I could have taken you down with me._

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, taking a step forward.

Enjolras turned away, repelled, and sat down in his desk chair to keep from facing him. He stared blankly at the wall, feeling empty.

The floorboards creaked behind him. Grantaire was coming closer.

“I don’t want to talk,” Enjolras said firmly, loudly, staring straight ahead.

“Enj-”

“At all.”

Then the footsteps were receding, and the sound of bedsprings told him Grantaire had retreated to sit on his bed. It was uncomfortably silent for a moment until Grantaire spoke up again. “Enjolras, whatever happened... I'm sorry.”

Enjolras clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to turn in his chair and snap at him, or worse. Never before had he felt such a sudden desire for physicality, to storm over there and grab him, to shake him or punch him in the nose. But he couldn't, not if he didn't want to end up right back in Valjean's office again. He continued to stare at the wall, and caught sight of Grantaire's drawing of Lamarque he had hung over his bed. He imagined himself standing up and ripping it off the wall, tearing it to shreds and tossing the scraps at Grantaire's feet. As destructive as he felt, as much as he wanted to hurt Grantaire right then, he knew he had to leave if he wanted to behave according to his probation.

He stood from his desk, quickly stuffing the books he needed for homework into his bag and tossing out the sketchbook. Then he finally turned to face the other side of the room, and Grantaire. “I'm leaving,” he announced, and pointed to Lamarque. “If you value that drawing at all, you'll remove it before I come back. I don't want it anymore.”

He saw Grantaire's eyebrows draw together in confusion, surprise even, as if he suddenly realized Enjolras was mad at him. _Who else!?_ he thought incredulously. Had he thought Enjolras was simply mad at the world? Enjolras decided to leave him to his distress and marched out, closing the door with finality.

He spent the rest of the night hiding in the library, nestled on an isolated couch up on the second floor and foregoing dinner altogether. His homework was spread out on his lap and beside him was the last of the chocolate truffles, stuffing one in his mouth every time his stomach complained. He trudged through his economics assignment and was relieved when his history handout was merely a fill-in-the-blank form. He could barely form a coherent sentence in his mind, his head swimming with a mixture of anger, sadness, and desperation. He had never been a bad student in his life, he still didn't think he was one, yet now he found himself fearing he was a few steps closer to expulsion then he ever could have imagined. What were those further disciplinary measures Valjean was alluding to?

He would have to be on his best behavior, there was no question, if he wanted to save the ABC Society. Even if he had to step down as the president, he couldn't let it be taken away from his friends. They didn't deserve to be punished as well, they hadn't even gotten involved in this mess. Couldn't Valjean see how harsh these measures were?

By the time he was forced to return to the dorm, the library closing for the night, the lights were already off in the room and Grantaire had gone to bed. Enjolras found his pajamas in the dark and got himself ready in the bathroom, then crept silently to his bed and slipped beneath the covers. Remembering what he had said as he left, he reached out and tentatively felt the wall. With an extra wave of disappointment, he realized the drawing was still taped above him, the texture of paper beneath his fingers. _Does it mean nothing to you then, Grantaire?_ he thought sadly.

 _Of course,_ he answered himself. _He cares about this just as much as he cared about me, when he walked into Valjean's office today._ But could Enjolras really ask him to care, after all the times he hadn't shown kindness to Grantaire? He dropped his hand with a sigh. Somehow tearing the drawing off the wall and making a scene didn't have the same appeal, now that it was too dark to even see. He shifted in his bed and hugged his pillow unhappily.

“Enjolras,” came Grantaire's voice, quiet across the room. “Whatever it was that happened I want you to know I was trying to help.”

Enjolras lip curled, nostrils flaring, and he hugged his pillow tighter as his body tensed up.

Grantaire continued. “I don't know what Valjean told you but-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras cut him off. “Don’t ever try to help me again.” He waited for a response to come, but he only heard a rustle of blankets on the other side of the room, and then silence fell again.

When Enjolras woke the next morning, with the memories of the previous evening seeping miserably back into his consciousness, he decided that he would no longer be on speaking terms with Grantaire. It didn't necessarily count as behavior that would get him sent to the headmaster’s office, he would simply, as civilly as possible, avoid all interaction. It seemed a good plan, Grantaire had caused a year's worth of pain and confusion thus far, and he wanted no more of it. When Grantaire attempted to get his attention that morning he simply walked past him, shrugged his arm away from Grantaire's pleading grasp, and closed the bathroom door in his face.

It became clear by the last class of the day, however, that Enjolras's plan was unviable. “Today I will be assigning you your partners and topics for your first full debate of the semester,” Javert reminded them as he began the lesson. “While every pairing has a different topic, there is a central theme of education and the academic environment.”

Enjolras closed his eyes meditatively, willing himself not to assume the worst. But Debate continually seemed to be a class where things went wrong, and with his streak of luck, he would be matched with Grantaire. They would have to cooperate together as if Grantaire hadn't stabbed him in the back. It couldn't get any worse than that.

Enjolras kept up a mantra in his head, _please not Grantaire please not Grantaire,_ as Javert finished his introduction and began to read out the pairings. He swallowed tightly as the list began to narrow down and still he hadn't heard either of their names. Who was even left by now?

“And then we have Enjolras,” Javert said, seeming to draw the phrase out, emphasizing each word. “Let's see, you will be with…”

Enjolras held his breath.

“Montparnasse…”

His eyes widened in horror. He had forgotten about his other enemy.

“Heh,” he heard Montparnasse grunt at the back of the room.

“And because we had a student drop the class last week, that leaves Monsieur Grantaire. You will be joining Enjolras and Montparnasse to make a group of three.”

“What!?” Enjolras couldn't help it, it had slipped out of his mouth before he could control himself. This was a worst case scenario he hadn't even realized was possible, he was now stuck with the two people he wanted to avoid all possible contact with. “B-but how?”

“Two will prepare separate arguments for the same position, the third will debate the opposing position twice,” Javert explained, staunch in his belief that this was a workable situation.

Enjolras clenched his jaw, staring down at his desk. Debate really was a cursed class, he realized. This theory only solidified in his mind when they received their topic. Javert was writing them down on the chalkboard, pointing to the pairings as he went. “...You two, government involvement in academia… And you two will be religious versus scientific education… You and you, public school versus private school, and then lastly, for you three… school uniforms.”

Enjolras's heart sank. _School uniforms!?_ It was the weakest topic of the bunch, while other groups clearly had more interesting and important things to argue about besides clothing. With a second wave of annoyance, he realized that receiving this assignment was probably Grantaire's fault, since he was the one who had earned himself a uniform violation in this class.

“For the duration of the period, I would like you to meet with your partners, discuss your topics, and decide which side of the argument you mean to represent,” Javert announced.

Enjolras took a deep breath, reached into his bag, and extracted a set of index cards wrapped with a red rubber band. Reluctantly, he slipped out of his seat and went to sit in a sunny patch on the floor beside the windows. The other two eventually joined him, Montparnasse looking warily between Enjolras and Grantaire as he sat down. Of course, Montparnasse was unhappy about the situation too. He was paired with the only two people who knew his secret, which put him in a position of vulnerability he clearly wasn't comfortable with. “So what exactly are we doing?” he asked with a sigh, resting his chin in his hands.

Enjolras unbound the note cards and began writing the stages of the debate on the backs of them. _Opening argument, cross-examination, first rebuttal…_

“We might need to figure it out ourselves,” Grantaire told Montparnasse. “Enjolras has been quiet today.”

Enjolras looked up, annoyed. The silver lining of the group of three, however, was that he could still address his plan of action without speaking directly to Grantaire. He hadn't decided to cut off communication with Montparnasse, and besides, the wounds from that failed friendship were much older than the ones Grantaire had dealt him, even in light of the Bahorel situation. “I will be arguing for, you two will be arguing against,” he turned to inform Montparnasse.

“Against what?” Montparnasse had clearly not been paying attention earlier.

“School uniforms,” Grantaire added in.

“Whether we should have them or not,” Enjolras explained. “You're saying we shouldn't, I'm saying we should.”

“And you've already decided which side we’re all on?” Montparnasse said airily.

“Well,” Enjolras said, his voice becoming clipped with impatience. “He comes from a school without uniforms and you always complained about them when we lived together.” And on top of that, the chance to defeat both his enemies in debate would be more than satisfying.

“I could really go either way,” Montparnasse insisted.

“If you think you're changing to my side just to copy my arguments, you're dead wrong,” Enjolras snapped. “He can deal with you,” he added, gesturing in Grantaire's direction without looking up as he continued to make little notes on the index cards.

“Fine, whatever,” Montparnasse said in annoyance, his plans thwarted. “I'd rather support the side that lets me choose what I want to wear anyway.”

There was an awkward silence as the two of them watched Enjolras diligently writing possible arguments on his cards. It was a stretch to find enough to say to last an entire debate, but the ideas came to him as he went along. Uniforms eliminated presumptions of socioeconomic status. They promoted equality and created an automatic sense of belonging. They prepared students for dressing professionally in the future. As Enjolras wrote, he noticed from the corner of his eye Grantaire's fingers reaching across the floor to fiddle with the red rubber band. Enjolras quickly snatched it away from him and hid it under the pile of notecards. “Why don't you two start coming up with your own arguments?” he asked testily. “I'm not going to make them up for you.”

Grantaire looked over at Montparnasse. “No uniforms. That means freedom of expression,” he said.

“I _would_ prefer to wear something more flattering,” Montparnasse commented.

“You looked good in that dress. The little white one.”

Enjolras eyes darted over to Grantaire in annoyance. He had sounded teasing and yet... sincere.

“Really?” Montparnasse asked, a feline smile on his lips.

“Suits you, Ophelia,” Grantaire smiled back.

Enjolras felt his lip curling up.

“I think I remember you at auditions. Are you in the cast too?” Montparnasse continued, intrigued.

“Uh... yeah,” Grantaire said, his smile becoming a smirk. “Small role though, pretty unimportant.”

“Oh, well,” Montparnasse said with the air of one thoroughly enjoying his superiority, “all roles are important. Every little bit counts.” He placed a condescending hand on Grantaire’s leg.

Enjolras bared his teeth. “He's playing Hamlet, Montparnasse,” he said pointedly, fussily shuffling through the cards he had made thus far. “It’s the lead role in case you were unaware.”

“I know that!” Montparnasse snapped, pulling his hand away to glare at Enjolras. “I know it's the lead... role…” he trailed off and turned back to Grantaire. “So… so you're my love interest in the play. Is there a kiss?” he asked, brushing his hair back with his fingers.

“Hamlet is not a romance, Parnasse,” Enjolras growled, prickling with anger. Why was Montparnasse talking to Grantaire like this, didn't he have his own boyfriend? “I think it would interest Bahorel to know you were asking about that.”

“Shh!” Montparnasse hissed, glaring and leaning towards Enjolras as if he wanted to slap him. He apparently recovered from his momentary impulse, and sat back. “Well, he _would_ want to know if there was a kiss,” he whispered.

“There's not,” Grantaire said. “In fact, Hamlet is quite mean to Ophelia. He outright rejects her.”

 _Good,_ Enjolras thought. “Get thee to a nunnery, Parnasse,” he said under his breath.

When class ended, he watched warily as Montparnasse and Grantaire walked over to the amphitheater together for their first Hamlet reading, while he headed alone to the dorm, feeling worse than ever. There was a physical pain within him now, an ache pulsing through his chest, echoing to highlight how empty he felt inside. Grantaire had hurt him, and was hurting him still, but this feeling was new, and it was from seeing him walk off with someone else. As soon as he recognized what it was, he was disgusted with himself. How could he possibly, after so adamantly pushing Grantaire away, be jealous?

When Grantaire returned later that night, well after dark, Enjolras kept up his vow of silence. He wasn't sure at this point whether it was to punish Grantaire or himself. Grantaire looked at him sadly as he came in, but seemed to accept it now, and made no attempt to breach the quiet until a few hours later when they were laying in bed with the lights off. “Still not going to talk to me, Enjolras?” he asked, his tone already defeated as if he knew he wouldn't be getting an answer.

The maddening part was that Enjolras did want to talk. He badly wanted to find out what had happened at the first night of play practice, after Grantaire had wandered off with Montparnasse, but Enjolras was too proud to tear down the wall he had built up between them. _Don't forget what he did to the ABC Society,_ he reminded himself as he shifted and settled under the blankets. Even so, he drifted off to sleep feeling the dull ache of jealousy still pulsing deep inside him, and hoping that Montparnasse had kept well away from Grantaire.

When Enjolras woke the next morning, Grantaire was different. It had seemed the day before that he was hardly affected by the silence, but as he was getting ready for school that morning there was an apparent expression of melancholy on his face, a lethargy in his movement. Before Grantaire could meet his eyes, Enjolras turned away, hurriedly tying his tie so he could leave for breakfast. He was adamant that keeping up his guard was the right thing to do. Bad things seemed to happen whenever he interacted with Grantaire, so it was better to avoid him, at least until the fate of his beloved club was resolved and his behavioral probation lifted.

But as the day continued, his resolve began to waver. Particularly by the time he got to art class, when he realized that giving up Grantaire meant losing his tutor. He stared at his canvas trying to make sense of the scribble he had made on Monday, but it was difficult to pick up the threads of where he had left off. He was so far removed from the peaceful state of mind he had been in during the previous art class, before his fateful trip to the office.

As Enjolras struggled to finish his portrait sketch, Grantaire hardly gave him a second glance. _And why should he?_ He could distinctly remember ordering Grantaire never to help him again, his words harsh and final. He looked up to watch Grantaire at an easel across the room, deep in concentration. He had already moved on to the painting stage, and as he leaned into his canvas, his brows were drawn down, his hand aggressive with each brushstroke. Grantaire was channeling himself into some masterpiece-to-be, while Enjolras sat impotently at his stool in front of a lifeless canvas. He almost felt relief when Bamatabois came over to yell at him for doing nothing, as he at least managed to extract a few pointers on how to continue his sketch during the teacher’s diatribe.

When class was over, Enjolras slowly walked behind Grantaire on the way down the stairs of the fine arts building and watched him slip out the back door to the amphitheater. He supposed it would be this way every night now, Grantaire going to his after-school theater activities instead of following Enjolras back to the dorms at the end of the day like last week. He grimaced, realizing he was reminiscing about something he had originally despised at first. Why did he feel so alone now, walking by himself across the grounds?

With half of his friends at football practice and a few participating in Hamlet, that left only Combeferre and Joly there at the cafeteria when Enjolras arrived for an early dinner. He sat and listened to them discuss plans for the science club they would lobby for at the activity fair on Friday evening. “I kind of like the name Mitosis for the club,” Combeferre was musing. “As we're trying to grow and multiply our number.”

“Oh, I like that too,” Joly replied enthusiastically. For someone who had been rejected from both the football team and the cast of Hamlet he was remarkably excited about the newly forming science club. “You think people will want to join?”

“Oh, trust me,” Combeferre said confidentially. “There's a lot of little nerds out in the Corinthe population just waiting for a social opportunity they understand. I was one of them once.” He grinned.

“Then you found the ABC Society and finally made some friends,” Joly chimed in with a smile.

Enjolras stared down into his spaghetti, twirling it slowly around his fork. He hadn't told anyone what had happened, but hearing them talk as if nothing was wrong made him feel terrible for keeping them in the dark.

“Hey,” Combeferre said, tapping Enjolras's tray with his spoon. “Talk to me, Enj. You've been awfully quiet.”

Enjolras looked up and tried to give Combeferre a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“For two days,” Combeferre continued where he left off.

Enjolras dropped the smile. “Exhaustion,” he said, his eyes cast down to his pasta again.

“Grantaire keeping you up at night?” Combeferre pressed.

Enjolras shrugged and gave a noncommittal shake of his head. “I guess. Maybe.”

As Enjolras was finishing up his food, Joly stood to take his tray. Combeferre leaned in closer across the table. “Is everything okay?”

Enjolras put down his fork and looked up at Combeferre, his eyelids feeling heavy. “There's something I need to tell you.” His voice rasped as he said it, the words difficult to get out.

“Alright,” Combeferre nodded seriously.

“Let's go for a walk,” Enjolras suggested, feeling hot beneath his collar.

They took their trays and bid Joly farewell, leaving the Great Hall and wandering off in the direction of the lake. The sun was starting its descent and half the sky was glowing a soft golden orange, though clouds were beginning to gather on the other side. It was getting cooler again with the coming night, and Enjolras stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them warm.

“Supposed to rain tomorrow,” Combeferre remarked idly.

“Mhm,” Enjolras replied, staring across the grounds where the football team was practicing on the athletic field. He saw the small figure of Courfeyrac kicking the ball to Bossuet, who attempted unsuccessfully to score a goal. “Listen,” Enjolras began, turning away to face the lake instead. “Please don't tell Courfeyrac, or anyone else… Not yet.”

“Of course,” Combeferre said solemnly. “No matter what it is.”

Enjolras paused, feeling as if the words he needed to say had stuck in his throat. Finally, he took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. “Valjean is considering the removal of the ABC Society,” he said as stoically as he could, his eyes on the gently rippling water.

“The removal?” Combeferre repeated, as if he couldn't quite understand the words.

“Cancellation. Elimination,” Enjolras said with a sigh. He was so used to the idea now that he felt emotionally numb.

“And why is that?” Combeferre asked, dumbfounded, the breeze gently ruffling his hair.

“Grantaire went to him and told him what happened, on Monday. How I had said those things at the dinner. How mean I was,” he said. “I was called into the office shortly afterward, when school was over.”

“On Monday?”

“Yes. And that's when Valjean told me his... solution. Saying that exclusion was a concern. That the club is encouraging an unhealthy attitude. That's never been a problem before,” Enjolras huffed. “You either belong in the club or you don't. You either uphold the ideals of the school or you don't. It's not like we're turning down students that _should_ be in it.”

“And how serious is this proposed solution?” Combeferre said, his mouth pursed thin.

“The club is on suspension until further notice,” Enjolras said, feeling a stab of anger aimed at Valjean. “That's all I know.”

“You waited to tell me.” Combeferre wasn't mad, simply stating a fact.

“I was afraid,” Enjolras said, his throat tight with guilt.

“Understandably.”

“I was hoping to wait until I found out for certain what will happen, before burdening anyone else with this, but… maybe it's better that you know. It hurts to keep secrets from you. Especially something like this,” Enjolras shook his head unhappily, letting out a breath.

“It's a difficult situation,” Combeferre said, still looking shaken.

“What I don't understand is why Grantaire would do something like that? I had thought we had moved past our differences, at least a little. We were getting along by the end of the weekend.” Enjolras huffed out a sad laugh. “And then afterward he had the nerve to tell me he was trying to _help_ when he went to Valjean. How was that helping _anything?_ ”

Combeferre narrowed his eyes in thought. “...You told him Valjean forced you to invite him,” he said slowly. “It may be Grantaire went to tell Valjean he didn't want him to do that anymore. He might have thought he was doing you a favor.”

Enjolras blinked at Combeferre, frowning, letting the words sink in. He hadn't thought of it that way before. Somehow, the idea of Grantaire not having deliberately sabotaged but instead making an enormous misjudgment made everything worse. If he had truly thought he was helping Enjolras by announcing highlights of Friday's dinner to Valjean he was sorely mistaken. Enjolras's eyes fluttered closed. “Why wouldn't he have come to me first?”

“It was Valjean who wanted him to be there, not you. Perhaps he thought he could put a stop to it at the source.”

“Instead he puts a stop to the ABC Society. And I can't even lift a finger in protest,” Enjolras shook his head.

“Let me go talk to Valjean,” Combeferre suggested, turning Enjolras's shoulder to get his attention.

“Combeferre, I… I don't know. What if it adds even more fuel to the fire? What if it only convinces him otherwise?”

Combeferre frowned. “I see your point, but I can't imagine I could cause much more damage as an unaffiliated party. Besides, don't you think it's unfair that all of us should be affected, just because of you?”

Enjolras looked up at him, taken aback by his bluntness. _Me… What about Grantaire?_

“I mean, I think I could argue in favor of how much good the club has done for us, and all the students that came before. It would be a shame to take it away from all of us, solely on account of your mistake.”

“Yeah…” Enjolras nodded slowly, staring intently at the ground.

“It's an unreasonable punishment but I think I could get him to see it from my point of view,” Combeferre seemed to be assuring himself.

Enjolras turned away. “If you want to go to Valjean then go ahead. Do whatever you think is best. I guess I don't know what that is anymore.” He started to walk away, deeply troubled. Was he alone the underlying cause of all of this, as Combeferre was suggesting?

“Enj,” Combeferre called after him. “I only meant that-”

“If it helps,” Enjolras turned to say over his shoulder as he sidestepped in the direction of the dorms, “argue to have me ejected from the Society. Maybe that will solve the problem.” He hadn't even wanted to suggest it, but the words slipped bitterly out of his mouth. Combeferre's words had stung him hard, and they seemed to ring true.

“I would never ask for that, Enjolras,” Combeferre called after him. “Don't go!”

“I've got an essay to write,” Enjolras said, and left him behind.

It wasn't a lie. When he returned to his room he sat at his desk and mechanically penned an essay for history class, an analysis of why the June Rebellion of 1832 had been unsuccessful. Enjolras could hardly concentrate as he wrote the words, trying and failing to put aside any new revelations he had with Combeferre. One thing was for certain though, regardless of who had started this whole thing; if Grantaire's meddling had indeed been accidental, he needed to speak to him.

He thought of how Grantaire had looked when Bamatabois had come out of his office to relay the fateful message. He had become withdrawn, his face bearing that grim frown as he retreated from Enjolras. Grantaire had known then that whatever he had done had resulted in that phone call. But maybe he really hadn't meant for this to happen. Even if Enjolras couldn't resolve the fate of the club, he could at least get some answers from his roommate.

So he did his homework, and waited.

The sky grew dark, and the evening slipped away. Enjolras changed into his pajamas and read _Notre-Dame de Paris_ in bed, and still Grantaire did not return. For all the times Grantaire seemed to burden him with his presence, now he was nowhere to be found when Enjolras needed him. Could play practice really last that long? Impossible.

Suddenly a haunting thought came to his mind. What if… What if he had run off somewhere with Montparnasse, after rehearsal? The thought was horrifying, and surely a ridiculous notion. But the memory of Montparnasse fawning over Grantaire's compliment in debate class made Enjolras extrapolate further to disgusting places in his imagination. He still clearly remembered how Montparnasse had sounded in the throes of pleasure across the hallway.

Enjolras sat up and threw the book aside in frustration. _Grantaire, come back!_ He wanted answers, and he needed to dispel these thoughts of Montparnasse immediately. Thankfully, he knew of at least one possible way to do so, and he hurriedly jumped up from the bed. Opening the door, he went out into the hallway in his pajamas and crossed to the door directly in front of him, knocking urgently, but much more politely then he had on Friday night.

Bahorel answered the door in a plaid robe and slippers. “Yes?” he asked tentatively, clearly on guard after their last hallway meeting.

“Is Parnasse in there?” he asked, trying to see around Bahorel.

“Oh, what now?” came an annoyed voice from behind the door. “We weren't making any noise.”

Enjolras gave a sigh of relief, strangely glad to have found Montparnasse here in Bahorel's room. Bahorel dropped his arm and stood aside for Enjolras to come in upon seeing that he didn't mean them harm. “Have you seen Grantaire?” Enjolras asked hopefully.

Montparnasse was sitting cross-legged on Bahorel's bed, this time fully clothed in pajamas, holding a stuffed animal in his lap. “Missing your boyfriend?” he asked with an insincere pout.

“He's not my-” Enjolras cut himself off in annoyance and sighed. “I just need to talk to him. I figured you might know since you were with him after school.”

“Well, I don't know. I haven't seen him. I mean, all of us thespians had dinner late together but if he was doing something after that's not _my_ concern. Hamlet never told Ophelia what was going on, after all,” Montparnasse said, seemingly proud of the analogy as he grinned up at him.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but it was just as well. If Grantaire wasn't getting close to Montparnasse, then his fears were alleviated. “Thanks for the help,” he sighed in defeat, turning to leave.

“Maybe he ran away,” Montparnasse piped up teasingly with a dramatic gasp. “Living with you was just too horrible for him. I should know.”

Enjolras spun back around, temper flaring at the suggestion. “You were the horrible one, not me. Things didn't go badly until I realized what you had done. And I told you to watch your tone from now on,” he said in warning, pointing an accusing finger at Montparnasse sitting there on Bahorel's bed. “I'm sure the school would be very interested to know Claquesous has that room all to himself now.”

Montparnasse scowled, narrowing his eyes. “Are you going to hold this over my head all year?”

“I just might,” Enjolras grumbled.

“You wait til I get something on you, then,” Montparnasse said under his breath, but Enjolras was turning to leave.

“Enj…” Bahorel said in a defeated tone, still holding the door open. “You aren't still upset are you?”

Enjolras reached out as he walked to the door, and pulled Bahorel gently into the hallway, so Montparnasse wouldn't hear. “I have other concerns right now, Bahorel. It's alright. Just… try to teach him how to be like one of us, if it's not too late. He might listen.” He let Bahorel go and went across the hall back to his own room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Enjolras had something new to worry about as he crawled back into bed. Was he himself all that different from Montparnasse? Enjolras wanted so badly to believe that he wasn’t like Montparnasse, that he was a better person, a _good_ person. Yet he was the one getting in trouble with the school, not to mention threatening blackmail, even if he wasn’t really going to act upon it. Certainly he couldn’t now, the last thing Valjean wanted would be for him to take jabs at other students in the midst of his downward spiral.

Enjolras couldn’t read his book any longer, with too many distressing thoughts floating around in his head, so he turned off the lamp and lay back on the pillow, trying his best to think of nothing. He hadn’t realized he had fallen into a restless sleep until he was awakened by the sound of a drawer opening. He blinked blearily, his eyes adjusting. The room was still dark but the bathroom light was on, a bright ray of light spilling from the doorway. From the glow, Enjolras could make out Grantaire in his gym clothes, digging for clean underwear or pajamas in a drawer. Grantaire didn’t notice him, but Enjolras could see his face, the unhappy set of his features. He was damp with sweat, and it was clear now where he had been all this time, taking out his frustrations on a punching bag.

And suddenly, Enjolras felt fear, cowed by the idea that the punching bag might have metaphorically had his name on it. If it had all been a misunderstanding, if Grantaire hadn’t meant to meddle, then there was a distinct possibility that Grantaire was less than pleased at being ignored. He had said that what he wanted most at this school was a friend. Yet now whatever bond that had started to grow between them had been severed, and Enjolras realized that Grantaire might have been just as torn up inside as he was, in a completely different way.

Enjolras didn’t feel like confronting him anymore that night, didn’t feel like asking him why he had gone to Valjean. _Maybe we’re just bad for each other, and that’s all there is to it. He’s a complete mess and I’m as petty and mean as Parnasse, and we'll never fit together anyway._ The thought hurt, but his pressing need to speak to Grantaire seemed to have withered away. Instead he simply lay there, and watched until he realized shamefully that Grantaire was stripping off his gym clothes right there in front of him, not knowing Enjolras was awake. He closed his eyes tightly several moments too late, seeing much more of Grantaire than he had meant to, even in the dim light. _Damn the both of us,_ he thought, his heart racing uncomfortably at what he had just seen as Grantaire removed his gym shorts. But soon it was dark again, Grantaire having shut the bathroom door, and the soothing sounds of the shower eventually lulled Enjolras back to sleep once more.

Grantaire stayed in bed well after the alarm went off the next morning. Enjolras was already dressed and packing his textbooks in his bag when Grantaire finally sat up. “You... you should hurry, if you don't want to miss breakfast,” Enjolras said tentatively, mustering his courage and breaching the silent barrier that had stood between them all Tuesday and Wednesday.

Grantaire looked over at him, surprised at being addressed, and nodded. He didn't speak, and Enjolras didn't have time to address anything else, so he swung his bag over his shoulder and left. _Tonight,_ he promised himself. Tonight they would talk, if Grantaire came back on time from Hamlet rehearsal, and didn’t come back from the gym in fighting condition.

Just as Combeferre had predicted, it was raining when he set foot outside. He held his bag overhead to shield himself and splashed through puddles on the sidewalk as he headed for the Great Hall. Enjolras didn’t like the way Combeferre was looking at him when he sat down with his tray at the breakfast table. It was a knowing, solemn look, indicating that he still had Enjolras’s secret on his mind. But Enjolras didn’t want to think about the ABC Society anymore, not right now, when there was nothing he could do but wait. The one person he should have told, he realized, was not Combeferre but Grantaire, who was still most likely in the dark about why Enjolras had stopped talking to him. It would certainly explain why Grantaire was just as frustrated as Enjolras.

He was beginning to develop a headache as he went from class to class, venturing out into the rain at lunch and back to the academic building again for the afternoon lessons. There were too many things on his mind, and sitting down for literature class halfway soaked didn't help either. Luckily, he managed to evade Monsieur Tholomyes’s notice regarding his inability to complete the reading assignment the night before by emphatically answering questions early on in the lecture. When they later ventured into the material he hadn't read, he had already filled up his participation quota for the period.

He was relieved by the time he headed up to the second floor for Debate. Normally Debate was a stressful end to his day, but it was the last class he would have to sit through and now he was almost looking forward to the group work opportunity. The forced interaction, he was hoping, would help him come to more comfortable speaking terms with Grantaire again.

Enjolras walked into his class, attempting a shy wave of greeting at Grantaire, but it went unnoticed. Montparnasse was already holding his attention, chattering away at his desk about the play. “In all honesty I was hoping Claquesous would get the lead. But you’re really good at it, and you make me look good and that’s all that matters, really.”

“What part did Claquesous get?” Enjolras asked as he sat down, trying to join in on the conversation.

“He’s Polonius. My _father_ , can you imagine?” Montparnasse laughed, brushing his hair out of his face. “We look nothing alike, clearly Ophelia is really adopted.”

Grantaire remained quiet.

When class began, they rose from their desks and once again sat down on the floor by the windows, Enjolras bringing his little stack of index cards. “So,” Enjolras began, unbinding his cards from the red rubber band and shuffling through them. “I was thinking of starting my introductory argument with a history of uniforms in academia or something. Maybe begin with the topic of tradition. And then the opposition, that’s you two, can talk about it being an antiquated practice. Or whatever you want to say. Like I said, I’m not going to write it for you-”

“Do you think Marius was any good last night?” Montparnasse asked, turning to Grantaire, lowering his voice as if Enjolras wouldn’t notice a side conversation happening right in front of him.

“He’s doing alright,” Grantaire answered, seeming as if he were off in his own thoughts, far away from class. His eyes were on the window, watching the rain fall.

“I don’t know, I think...maybe Claquesous would have been better as the king, you know, the true villain. Marius doesn’t really-”

“Hey,” Enjolras said sternly, glaring at the two of them. “We have a project. Have you come up with anything at all?”

“Look it’s not that hard to talk about why we should get to dress how we want to,” Montparnasse rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Then go.” Enjolras crossed his arms. “Say it. Give me a good argument.”

“Well. I know how to dress for my body type. And I should express myself as a unique individual. And… um… I want to stand out. And be my own person. And....” Montparnasse looked to Grantaire for help, but he wasn’t listening.

“You have nothing.” Enjolras shook his head. He took some blank note cards from the bottom of his pile and tried to hand a few to Montparnasse and Grantaire. “Why don’t you both stop thinking about the play for two seconds and do your work.”

“Why don’t you relax?” Grantaire asked tonelessly, looking up to meet his eyes.

Enjolras was taken aback, dumbfounded for a moment. He would have snapped right back at him, but something told him to keep calm, if he wanted to have a civilized conversation with him later that evening. “I’m fine,” he said as evenly as he could. “I just don’t want to get in trouble with Javert. You know firsthand how his detentions are.”

“Don't remind me,” Grantaire sighed, looking away.

“Well if you'd like to be able to use your hand tomorrow then make sure you have something written down by the time- hello, Monsieur Javert,” he said quickly, changing his tone as their teacher walked up to them.

“How is the project coming along?” Javert asked, standing above their little circle on the floor.

“Awful, sir,” Montparnasse whined. “Enjolras is being so difficult. He won't help us at all.”

Javert eyed Enjolras sternly. “Enjolras…”

“No, sir, that's not it at all!” Enjolras protested in disbelief. “I'm doing _all_ the work right now. Look, sir,” He spread out his index cards. “I'm the only one coming up with ideas.”

“Enjolras,” Javert repeated. “This is a group project. It is essential that you learn to work with your group.”

“I'm trying!” Enjolras said in vain.

“I've heard you have a problem with inclusion. What a perfect opportunity to improve upon it,” Javert said with an air of satisfaction.

Enjolras's eyes widened in horror. So he knew about the incident. How many others did Valjean tell? Were all his teachers watching him, waiting to report on his behavior?

“I'll come back to check on you at the end of the period. I want better news when I return,” Javert warned, and left them.

Montparnasse turned back to him with a smirk. “Having problems lately?”

Enjolras stared at him. “This isn't funny,” he said flatly.

“I beg to differ,” Montparnasse replied with glee.

“Please, this is important,” Enjolras begged. He couldn't believe that he had been looking forward to this class only a short time ago.

“Well, we might as well get started,” Grantaire said tonelessly to Montparnasse, much to Enjolras's relief. “We don't have to make Enjolras do it.”

“I suppose,” Montparnasse sighed, waiting for Grantaire to come up with something.

“You shouldn't let him rely on you either,” Enjolras warned Grantaire. “You're not supposed to be a team, you're two separate opponents.”

“Maybe we should ask Javert if we can debate as a team,” Montparnasse suggested enthusiastically as if he had thought of the idea himself.

“So you can stand there and do nothing, I don't think so,” Enjolras growled.

“We’ll just brainstorm together right now,” Grantaire said fairly. “Group effort.”

“See?” Montparnasse said, cocking his head at Enjolras. “Grantaire knows how to work together.”

“That's fine,” Enjolras said dismissively, giving up, still haunted by Javert's words.

“So… let's start with all the benefits of not having to wear a uniform,” Grantaire said in contemplation. Enjolras watched him pick the rubber band up off the floor to fidget with it, and tried to resist the urge to snatch it back away from him. “For starters, there's no ridiculous punishments for not wearing a tie.”

“Oh, Javert will love that brilliant argument,” Enjolras threw in sarcastically.

“Why don't you be the scribe?” Grantaire suggested. “That way you have something to do.”

Enjolras pursed his lips, but took his blank notecards back. He still didn't think it was fair that he had to help out at all, when there were two of them perfectly capable of handling the work normally delegated to a single person. But he sucked it up and wrote down Grantaire's ideas for the rest of class, secretly plotting a counter argument as he wrote down each point for the opposition. Montparnasse had, unsurprisingly, very little to offer, simply agreeing with Grantaire most of the time or throwing in an inane comment about keeping up with current fashion trends. Enjolras listened with envy as he heard other teams throughout the classroom discussing more important topics, like the separation of church and state, and government funding for education, all the while watching with muted annoyance as Grantaire played with his rubber band.

Montparnasse kept glancing over to the clock with sharp eyes, not wanting to spend a minute more in class than he needed to. They had turned over practically everything that could ever be said about clothing choices when Montparnasse was reminding them there were five minutes left until the bell. _Finally,_ Enjolras thought. He would go back to the room, get his homework done and wait for Grantaire to finish up with play practice so they could have their talk. He gathered up his notecards, stacking them neatly together, and held out his hand. “Grantaire,” he prompted.

“Hm?”

“I need that,” he said pointing to the rubber band.

“Oh. Here.” Grantaire held it out between his fingers for him to take, but when Enjolras reached out for it, he wouldn't let go.

"Grantaire," Enjolras scolded, tugging on the rubber band. "C'mon."

"What?" Grantaire asked innocently.

“Grantaire, stop,” Enjolras said, exasperated, trying to pull the band back, but when Grantaire teasingly persisted, Enjolras gave up and released it in annoyance.

Unfortunately, Grantaire chose to let it go at the exact same time, and it sped off and upward. As it struck its ill-fated target with a snap of finality, the color drained from Enjolras's face. He let out a gasp. Montparnasse covered his mouth to hold back an uncharacteristic squeak, and Grantaire quickly spun his head around, fearful of what it was his partners had seen.

Javert stood there with one hand over his eye, his face purpling with rage. He had been on his way over to check on their group when the airborne missile went flying up to meet him. He took a step closer. “Which...one of you…” he seethed, his voice menacingly low. “Which one of you did this?”

Enjolras's eyes darted to Grantaire, and Grantaire met his gaze, the two of them in a panic. In that split second they were trying to assess if the other was going to take the fall. Enjolras's mouth opened and closed as he looked back up to Javert, his mind grasping for the right thing to do. Was this Grantaire's fault, like so many other times there was trouble? Or did Enjolras only have himself to blame for the provocation, as Combeferre had suggested? Or could it be that it was simply the two of them causing their own brand of destruction each time there was a problem?

“Well?” Javert growled dangerously, glaring with one eye while the other stayed covered by his hand. “I need an answer.”

Grantaire seemed frozen, and Enjolras knew deep in his wildly beating heart that he couldn't point the finger. Blaming Grantaire didn't seem like the obvious, clear answer anymore, as it once had been. “It… it was an accident, sir,” Enjolras said as firmly as he could manage, rising from the floor and looking Javert straight in his uninjured eye.

“A perfectly... aimed... accident?” Javert asked, livid at the suggestion. “Right at your very teacher, Enjolras?”

By now, the entire class was staring, paused in the midst of packing notebooks into schoolbags. Enjolras swallowed, his primal instincts telling him to run or prepare to fight. “We didn't mean-”

“Your headmaster _told_ me you were having disciplinary issues, but I never would have guessed you were capable of this sort of lowly, childish behavior,” Javert said, finally releasing his eye, though he kept it squeezed shut. He reached forward and grabbed Enjolras's arm, tethering him in case he tried to get away.

“No!” Grantaire stood up. “Sir, it was me. I did it. I don't know what came over me. I… I… hate you, for giving me detention,” he said quickly.

Javert's eye darted over to Grantaire, his teeth bared, though he kept a firm grip on Enjolras, who had paused in his efforts to tug himself away to stare at Grantaire.

“I'm the troublemaker,” Grantaire insisted. “Punish me, not Enjolras.”

Enjolras subtly shook his head at him. Why was he claiming it was an intentional act? He hadn't even been facing the right way to be capable of that, hadn't even seen the band hit Javert. And why would he attempt to take all the blame upon himself? Unless, Enjolras realized, this was another reckless stab at his expulsion plan.

“You?” Javert snarled suspiciously, his injured eye opening a little, red and watery.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, lifting his chin courageously.

“No!”

All three of them turned to look. Montparnasse was standing up, his eyes bright. “Sir, it _was_ Enjolras,” he said with relish.

“Stay out of it!” Enjolras snapped, infuriated. Was Montparnasse attempting to rescue Grantaire, or did his hatred for Enjolras run this deep?

“That rubber band belongs to _him_. He… he's the one with d-disciplinary issues!” Montparnasse was parroting Javert's phrase, latching onto it with vampiric greed. “I tried to tell everyone freshman year about him, didn't I?” he asked, looking around at his classmates. “But I was the one who got in trouble! It was him all along who was the bad seed, not me!”

“No!” Enjolras protested furiously, struggling in Javert's grasp as if he could get at Montparnasse. “Sir, he's lying!”

“ _He's_ the liar!” Montparnasse countered. “Don't let Grantaire take the fall for him. Enjolras has been making up lies since I've known him. He lied about me to get out of rooming together and he's still making things up now. So... so if any of you hear anything he says about me, _anything_ at all, it's not true!” he announced flatly to their audience.

Enjolras fell limp, staring at him. So that was Montparnasse's angle, a clear message he wasn't going to tolerate Enjolras threatening to spill his secret any longer. Discrediting him in front of both teacher and students was the simplest way to crawl out from under his control.

“And I tell you now, I saw him take aim and shoot it right at you, sir,” Montparnasse said silkily, doing nothing to conceal his smile. “I swear it.”

Javert's grip tightened on Enjolras's wrist and he pulled him closer, as if he were a beast about to devour him. “Is that right?” he growled.

“It was an _accident_ ,” Enjolras hissed defiantly, meeting Javert's eyes in challenge. The bell went off jarringly as they stared each other down. It was too late to change his mind. Javert wanted to believe the worst in Enjolras and Montparnasse had only confirmed his suspicions.

“You are not to leave this classroom,” he finally said in disgust.

“Please, sir!” Grantaire stepped forward in an attempt to intervene.

“Leave,” Javert commanded with a glare, then looked around at the classroom, realizing the other students were all watching intently. “Didn't you hear the bell?” he demanded. “Go do your homework!”

Fearful of Javert's wrath, the class quickly finished packing up their books and hurried from the room. Montparnasse slunk out still wearing his smile of satisfaction as he retrieved his bag, but Grantaire lingered as he headed towards the door, looking from Enjolras to Javert with deep concern.

“Didn't you hear me, Monsieur Grantaire?” Javert grunted.

Grantaire took a step backward, his eyes meeting Enjolras's.

 _Go_ , Enjolras mouthed at him. There was no point in Grantaire staying, it would only get him in trouble and Javert wasn't going to change his mind.

Grantaire nodded and backed out. Enjolras glimpsed Montparnasse in the hallway, attempting to tug Grantaire off to rehearsal. Grantaire wrenched his arm away and gazed back at Enjolras through the doorway, until Javert went over and firmly shut it.

Enjolras stood his ground. What sort of detention was he going to face? Grantaire's violations earned him four hours of lines. How many hours would nearly taking the teacher's eye out award him, a week? A month? Nevermind the fact that Javert seemed to be fine now, he was convinced it had been a deliberate shot at him, and that could never go unpunished.

Then Enjolras's heart sunk into his stomach as the first wave of shock cleared, and he realized what would happen next. Valjean would hear all about this violation of his behavioral probation. Enjolras’s relationship with the ABC Society was more than likely over for good.

“Go to the board,” Javert commanded, pointing impatiently with an outstretched arm.

Enjolras turned mechanically, going up to the board to stand on the left side. His fingers went to the metal shelf at his waist level, sliding a piece of chalk over to his hand. What would he be writing, _I will not physically harm my teacher?_ He stared at the chalk dust gathered on the shelf, feeling as if he were in some sort of alternate reality, one he was never meant to be in. Everything had happened so fast, over something so impossibly stupid and unlucky.

“In the short time you've been my student,” Javert began, “you've proved yourself to be an attention seeker. A loud mouth. A know-it-all. It's no secret I despise this particular kind of student. Convinced you have everything down before you even set foot in a classroom, so eager to impress. But I was unaware you were the type so desperate to stand out that you would do something like this.”

“Sir, I _told_ you,” Enjolras started, looking over his shoulder at him. “You've got it wrong. It was-”

“Eyes forward!” Javert snapped.

Enjolras turned his face back to the board, clenching his jaw.

“I've heard you were meant to be on your best behavior,” Javert continued, pacing behind Enjolras. “And here you are playing David and Goliath like a child with a slingshot. Would it make you feel better, Enjolras, to see me brought down? Do I intimidate you so?”

Enjolras glared from the corner of his eye, though he still couldn't catch a glimpse of him in his peripheral vision. “I'm not scared of you,” Enjolras said calmly, all thoughts of Valjean and the ABC Society pushed aside in order to be brave.

“You see that's the problem with boys like you,” Javert said, suddenly very close, his voice a venomous whisper. “You're not afraid. You think you're invincible, you think you're above it all, you think you can do anything because you were raised rich and privileged. Well I'll tell you something, Monsieur Enjolras, you are sorely mistaken. You will fly too close to the sun and then you will fall and your life will amount to nothing. That's what happens to students like you.”

Enjolras stared straight ahead, trying hard not to let the words get under his skin. But Javert was unwittingly playing on his fear that he had suddenly been steered down a path to ruin ever since this school year had started. A muscle twitched in his jaw but he refused to speak. Javert would refute anything he tried to say, so he kept a stoic silence with his eyes on the blackboard. _Get on with it, old man. What would you have me write?_

“It is in my experience that there is only one proper way to punish students who act this poorly. Only one way for you to learn your lesson.”

Enjolras's brows drew together, exhausted by this fanfare, his fingers closing around the stick of chalk on the shelf in front of him. He was still waiting to hear the verdict, and now it seemed it would be ten _years_ of lines by the way Javert was carrying on.

“Brute... force,” Javert growled slowly.

Enjolras hadn't yet registered what Javert said when a high-pitched _whoosh_ sounded, followed by a loud _crack_ that startled a gasp out of him, the chalk snapping in half in his tensed fingers. _What was that?_ he thought in a panic. He was about to turn and find out, but a second later a sudden stinging pain blossomed on the back of his thighs, a single continuous line that burned from end to end across his legs. And he understood, even before he looked in horror over his shoulder to see the cane in Javert's hand.

“I told you, eyes forward,” Javert barked.

Enjolras slowly turned to face the board again, his mouth falling open to stammer silently, unable to think clearly. As a second hit struck him and he gripped the shelf in front of him for support, he realized now why he had been asked to stand at the board. Javert didn't want him falling over.

When the third stroke hit him, he yelped in pain. It had crossed over with one of the stripes he had already received, and the pain doubled. His eyes began to water, and his mind clouded over with thoughts he couldn't hold onto. _Why is this happening? It was an accident! If Montparnasse had kept his mouth shut, if Grantaire hadn't been fooling around-_

Another loud _crack._

His fingers dug into the shelf. _How... how can this be real? How did it come to this?_ Another hit, and he leaned his forehead against the chalkboard, squeezing his eyes shut. _I am a straight-A student. A student council representative. The ABC Society president. But what does that matter?_ He winced at the next hit, a strange muffled sound emitting from his throat as he tried to swallow back a cry of pain. _I am nothing now to them, to Javert, ...Valjean. I am only a problem to be dealt with… Convicted without trial..._

“Aah!” His fingernails scraped the surface of the metal as another stroke from the cane met with the stripes of pain running down his thighs. He pressed his head against the chalkboard for support, less capable of cohesive thought now that the pain was overwhelming his senses. _There’s no going back… this is what I've become..._ Another whistle in the air, another crack on the back of his legs, and he cried out once more, a helpless wail. He could feel himself crumbling, breaking, the Enjolras he had once been proud of was fading away. The fight was leaving him, his knees beginning to buckle. A whimper at the next hit, and he began to think it would never end. _If I hadn't... if I had only.._

 _Crack,_ another stroke and he nearly fell, his knees giving out, but he held himself up by his hands, gripping the shelf with white-knuckled fingers. He braced himself, straightening for the next blow. There was a pause, too long, and then a rumbling _crack_ that rattled the windows. Enjolras gasped in fear, but as the sound continued to rumble away, it was clear it was a thunderclap from the storm moving overhead.

“Ten strokes,” Javert concluded. “Do you require more to understand your wrongdoing?”

Enjolras was trembling, his breaths shallow. “N-no, sir,” he said, his eyes cast down on his colorless fingers. He was far beyond meeting Javert's eye in challenge anymore.

“What have you learned?” he asked in a low voice, sounding as if he had stepped back to admire Enjolras’s broken spirit.

“T-that...” _...there is no justice in this classroom._ “That I'm very sorry, sir,” he whispered in defeat. Anything to end it. “It will never happen again.”

“That's right. It won't,” Javert snapped. “One more step out of line and I'll have you expelled faster than you can blink. I expect a formal letter of apology to be delivered by hand to me on Monday at the beginning of class. Now go.”

Enjolras was afraid to move. When he turned, he reached out for Javert's desk for support, his legs hardly able to respond at first. He kept his head down, the thought of having to see the look on Javert's face sickening him. He moved from Javert's desk to the student desks, placing a hand on each one he passed for safety in case he fell. He stopped for his bag, hugging it to his chest, and slowly tottered to the door, reaching out a shaking hand for the doorknob.

When he opened it, there was Grantaire and Montparnasse, right where he had last seen them. There was no smirk of satisfaction on Montparnasse's face as he might have expected, only a look of awestruck, wide-eyed disbelief. Grantaire's face, however, was an expression of pure sadness, and he quickly held out his arms to catch Enjolras as he nearly collapsed against him.

“It's okay,” Grantaire whispered, an arm tightly around Enjolras's back to keep him upright.

Enjolras merely shook his head, too shocked to speak. He didn't need to explain, it was clear the two of them had their ears to the door all throughout Enjolras's ordeal.

“E-Enjolras…” Montparnasse attempted tentatively.

Enjolras tensed up at the sound of his voice, and Grantaire clearly felt it against his shoulder. “You should go to rehearsal,” he urged Montparnasse. “I've got him. I'll take him back to the dorm.”

“What about you?” Montparnasse asked, taking a step towards the stairway.

“I don't know,” Grantaire said dismissively, as he guided Enjolras to the stairs.

“Well if... if you do come, it’ll be indoors this time. In the auditorium, with the storm and all,” Montparnasse said from a few steps down.

“I got it. Thank you,” Grantaire answered coldly.

Montparnasse, realizing he was unwanted, hurried down to the first floor and disappeared from sight.

Enjolras descended the stairs as if he were in a trance, his footsteps slow, trusting Grantaire to hold him upright as he hugged his bag tightly to his chest. When they reached the bottom and made it to the front doors of the academic building, Grantaire paused to dig around in his own bag before producing a small green umbrella. He unfurled it and held it over their heads as he guided Enjolras out into the rain, one arm around him. “Watch your step,” he said softly in Enjolras's ear as they tread carefully through the puddles gathering on the sidewalk. The rain was beating down on the umbrella, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky. It was followed by a crack of thunder that made Enjolras close his eyes and stop to lean against Grantaire, his legs throbbing as if the sound had been the cane instead.

“Do you need me to carry that for you?” Grantaire asked, offering to take the bag, his arm still holding him steady.

Enjolras simply shook his head, and attempted to straighten himself, taking another step so Grantaire would follow along. It was slow going, the two of them crossing the wet courtyard, past the flooding gardens to the dorms. The rain had sent all the students indoors, and the sidewalks were empty. Their journey went unnoticed, even their arduous climb up the dormitory stairs, when Grantaire took Enjolras's arm and helped him up every painful step.

Finally they reached their door, Enjolras taking a deep breath as they crossed the threshold. Grantaire graciously took his schoolbag from him and set it down, then laid the wet umbrella by the door. Enjolras stood there uncertainly, not knowing what he could possibly be do to feel like himself again. Grantaire watched him expectantly, as if he were waiting to hear how he could help.

“You…” Enjolras finally rasped, his throat raw. “You should go to your play practice.”

“There are scenes without me,” he said, shaking his head.

“I'll be okay,” Enjolras said, unbuttoning his blazer. Grantaire came forward to take it from him, pulling the coat off his shoulders and draping it over the desk chair. “Really, Grantaire,” Enjolras tried to assure him. “Don't worry about me.”

He limped to the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind him. His composure started to fail him as he reached down to pull off his shoes and threw them aside haphazardly. He stood up again with apprehension, undoing his belt slowly, his fingers shaking again. Unfastening his pants, he let them fall, stepping out of them onto the cold tile floor.

Then swallowing hard, his throat tight, he backed away towards the door, as full a view in the mirror as he could get, and turned around. He twisted to look over his shoulder at his reflection, and gasped with dismay. Ten red stripes, bright against his pale skin, crisscrossing each other over the backs of his thighs. Each one was raised from the surface, already beginning to swell and bruise. How would he be able to sit in a desk chair tomorrow in his classes?

He was staring in disbelief, vaguely aware that he heard his name a few times. “Enjolras,” Grantaire said again, the door opening a little as he stuck his face in. “Do you want me to...”

Enjolras jolted out of his trance at the intrusion, but Grantaire had already seen the stripes in the reflection, falling silent as he looked at him sadly. “I told you to go,” Enjolras said, turning red over his state of undress, even when his shirttails covered the front of him and such a childish concern shouldn't have mattered anymore.

“I was going to ask if I should bring you anything. Food, or medicine, or-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, feeling as if he would collapse if Grantaire kept reminding him how fragile he had become. “I just need to be alone. You told me to tell you when I need time alone. Please,” he begged. _I don't want to be seen like this._

Grantaire hesitated at the door, as if he would have preferred to come in instead, but then nodded. He turned, and as he closed the door behind him, he whispered, “I'm so sorry, Enjolras.”

Enjolras stood there, taking breaths to calm himself until he heard the door to their room close outside. Then when he felt safe from another interruption, he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his socks and underwear, standing naked in front of the mirror until he turned away unhappily. He couldn't recognize himself in his reflection, a haunted, frightened look in his eyes. He hugged his arms, the weather having chilled him, and turned on the hot water of the shower. The whole affair had made him feel disgusted with both the school and himself, and maybe there was a chance that washing himself might cleanse it all away.

He realized his mistake when he stepped in, the heat and the water pressure making his thighs burn uncomfortably. He turned quickly away from the water, allowing himself to recover, before turning the temperature down to cold and the faucet to a slow trickle. Then he carefully turned around again, and as he eased back into the flow of the water, it felt better on his injured thighs. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and let the cold water run down his body, shivering even as the stream soothed his burning stripes.

After he had dried off, carefully dabbing the towel on his legs, he donned a pair of clean black underwear and a night shirt, and got into bed. It was early, but the storm was still raging outside the window and Enjolras was not planning to venture out. He had no interest in limping to the cafeteria in the rain, nor even doing any homework here in the room. He simply lay under the warm blankets on his belly, his face half in the pillow and his eyes on the droplets rolling down the window pane.

There was a math quiz to study for in Thenardier’s class tomorrow morning. There was a _Wuthering Heights_ analysis due in English. Father Myriel had assigned them an essay on the subject of faith. He had been planning to catch up on his _Notre-Dame de Paris_ reading. In the end, he would do none of it. He already knew that an attempt would be fruitless; his mind could concentrate on nothing else but the throbbing pain in his legs and the feeling of dismay in his heart.

He lay there, unmoving and unable to sleep, the sky turning from grey to black as the time slipped by. The rain continued into the night, the sound of it steady on the roof above him. When he could no longer see out the window, he closed his eyes and tried to rest. Instead though, he only entered into a cycle of delirious thoughts revolving around expulsion and humiliation.

“Enjolras… Enj…” Grantaire was gently shaking his shoulder.

Enjolras opened his eyes blearily, raising his head. He wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or had been merely lost in a deep stupor. “Hmm?” he groaned.

“I brought you an ice pack. And some dinner,” Grantaire said softly.

Enjolras looked up at him, filled with a sudden relief. His stomach was rumbling against the mattress. He stirred, attempting to sit up, but Grantaire stopped him. “No, don't get up,” he said, a hand guiding him back down. “Let me.”

Enjolras watched over his shoulder, stiffening anxiously as Grantaire pulled back the blanket covering his bare thighs. He blushed, unsure if Grantaire taking care of him or seeing his underwear embarrassed him more. “Grantaire,” he said nervously.

“It's alright,” Grantaire assured him, laying the ice pack on top of his legs. It was too small to cover all of the stripes but he placed it in the center where it could lay equally over each leg. Already Enjolras felt better, even though it chilled him, and Grantaire pulled the blanket back over him to cover him up once more. “I know it's not big enough, but I told the nurse I had a headache. It's the best I could come up with.”

“No, this…this is good. Thank you,” Enjolras said sincerely.

“Here.” Grantaire handed him something wrapped up in a cloth napkin.

Enjolras sat up on his elbows to open it, finding two meat pastries inside, and he smiled faintly. “You went to a lot of trouble.” He took a grateful bite.

Grantaire frowned sadly at him. “Because I owe you. That should have been me in there.”

Enjolras stared at him, swallowing hard. Deep down, did he feel the same? _No. Not at all. No one deserves that_. He shook his head. “Don't say that. Besides, Javert hated me from the first day. I doubt Montparnasse’s statement had much of an effect on who he wanted to punish.”

“I know but…” Grantaire looked away with a sigh. “Better me than you.”

Enjolras watched him, wondering exactly what it was Grantaire felt. “Can we talk, Grantaire?” he asked. “I… I've been wanting to, for two days now.”

“Of course,” Grantaire said, hastening to take hold of Enjolras's desk chair and pull it up beside the bed. He sat down, watching him attentively.

“I want you to know that I am truly sorry, Grantaire. I'm sorry for all the things I said to you.”

“Oh, Enj-”

“I am,” Enjolras continued. “And I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like you would rather go to Valjean than talk to me about what happened at that dinner. I know I should never had said what I did.”

Grantaire's eyebrows drew together and he cocked his head as if he were searching his mind.

“I know I don't exactly make myself the most approachable person. And I wish I had never-”

“Wait, wait a minute. Enj. I didn't go to Valjean.”

Enjolras blinked at him. “But… but Monday?”

“He called _me_ into the office. I didn't report you, Enj.” Grantaire looked awestruck. “Is that what you think I did? Is that why you wouldn't talk to me?”

Enjolras felt a sense of panic welling in his chest. “What exactly happened then?” he asked, his heartbeat thumping against the bed.

“So Valjean didn't tell you…” Grantaire said in realization. “Well he said it to me. When he brought me in he told me the kitchen staff reported us for fighting at the dinner. They told him what they overheard, they were uncomfortable and concerned about it. He asked me if it was true and well,” he shook his head, looking annoyed. “I lied, of course. I said everything was fine and we were friends and not to worry. I thought it would be fine after that. Of course, I found out shortly after that he didn't believe me, but I tried.” Grantaire sighed. “When he called during art class I knew it was your turn. And I felt so horrible, I mean this whole thing wouldn't have happened if I just… never came to the school.”

Enjolras stared at him sadly. He had said the same kind of things about Grantaire before but to hear Grantaire say it himself, to see the despondent look on his face, was painful. “I...I wish you had told me, before I went in,” Enjolras said, wanting to take everything back. He felt his eyes welling up.

“I wish you had spoken to me when you returned,” Grantaire replied, before he noticed Enjolras's wet eyes. “Shit,” he sighed, standing up and retrieving something from within his drawers and something else from the bathroom. He returned with the bottle of wine and Enjolras's cup, the cylinder from their art lesson.

Enjolras shook his head preemptively.

“No,” Grantaire insisted. “You need it now.” He took out a pocket knife and uncorked the bottle, pouring some wine into Enjolras's cup and offering it to him.

Enjolras was reluctant to take it. His parents had him taste wine before at home, but he had never been fond of the stuff.

“It'll make you feel better,” Grantaire urged. “C’mon. Drink with me.”

Enjolras sighed and finally accepted the wine, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a tentative sip. It was bitter, but once he felt it go down his throat, he resigned himself to continue.

After making sure Enjolras was taken care of, Grantaire took a swig directly from the bottle. “You'll want to take more than one bite of your dinner, too, or you'll get drunk.”

Enjolras felt as if he had already lost his appetite but he nodded obediently, nibbling at his pie, keeping it wrapped in the napkin to stop the crumbs from falling into his bed.

“I was hoping, so badly, that Valjean simply needed you for something else, and it wasn't about this at all,” Grantaire said slowly, picking up where they had left off. “I know that didn’t turn out to be the case. And something happened there too, I realized that. But I still don't know what it was.”

Enjolras swallowed another sip of wine, the numbing effect starting to sink in. “Valjean threatened to get rid of the ABC Society,” he said emotionlessly. “He started to see things from your point of view, I guess.”

“I don't care about the club anymore, Enj,” Grantaire said. “I didn't say a word against it in the office, I hope you know that.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Now I do.”

“And I never would have reported you,” he continued, almost pleading for Enjolras to believe him. “That's not how I am, that's not who I am.”

Enjolras took a shaky sip of his wine, continuing to nod. He was starting to think he couldn't feel worse. He was already in terrible pain, and now added to that was the crushing guilt for punishing Grantaire all week for something he hadn't done. “I'm so sorry, Grantaire. You were angry with me, weren't you? You went to the gym again last night.”

“I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what had happened and at first I thought it wouldn't last more than a day. And then it did, and I got so frustrated.” Grantaire frowned helplessly, his grip tightening on the neck of the bottle. “I didn't know what to do, what to say to you. And now I know it's because you thought I was trying to destroy your club. Is… is Valjean really taking it away?”

“He will now, probably. From me, at least,” Enjolras said emptily. “Javert will tell Valjean all about how I attacked him. I'll be called to the office tomorrow. And then…”

“You've just got to tell the truth,” Grantaire said with a determined nod.

“Look how well that worked out today,” Enjolras said bitterly. “And if it's my word against a teacher’s, he'll... he’ll never believe me. Valjean’s already started to think I'm a bad kid. Maybe I am. Everything he was mad about before, how I treated you, that was true.”

“It's okay, Enjolras,” Grantaire said. “You're allowed to not like me.”

“Oh, Grantaire.” Enjolras reached out for his hand, a fresh pang of guilt at his words. “I do like you,” he said firmly, through his sadness.

Grantaire put a hand in his, squeezing it. His mouth was thin, as if he were trying to refrain from saying something. “Eat,” he finally said, encouraging him gently. “You can solve this tomorrow. Don't think about any of it right now.”

“How can I not?”

“Well… have you done your homework?” Grantaire suggested.

“I'm not doing it,” Enjolras said, adamant.

“...Anything I can help you with?” he offered.

 _No,_ Enjolras almost said dismissively, but he paused to think about it. “I...I never finished my reading in _Notre-Dame de Paris_ for today,” he admitted.

Grantaire's dampened spirits seemed to brighten ever so slightly. “I can read it to you,” he volunteered hopefully. “Where is it?”

“It's in my bag.” Enjolras pointed weakly to the floor.

Grantaire retrieved it, flipping to the last dog-eared page. “Here?” he asked.

Enjolras nodded, taking another bite of his pastry.

Grantaire sat with one hand holding the book, the other holding the bottle propped on his knee, and read to him about Quasimodo and Esmeralda between sips of wine. Enjolras finished his dinner and emptied his cup, then lay his head on the pillow, closing his eyes in exhaustion. As he listened to Hugo's words in Grantaire’s soft voice, Enjolras felt himself drifting far away from the school, to somewhere in Paris long ago.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke with a start in darkness. The first thing he registered was the pain, and a prickling in his legs which must have woken him up. It didn't take long for it all to come rushing back, the caning fresh on his mind again. He was now a student branded, and though the marks would fade, he could never return to his previous state of academic perfection.

The room was quiet, Grantaire had gone to bed. Enjolras reached down behind him and felt the ice pack, now merely a bag of water, sitting on his legs. He picked it up carefully and set it on the nightstand. Then slowly, he turned on his side and reached under the sheets again, putting a hand to the back of his thigh. He sucked in his breath. It hurt to touch but it burned with urgency like an itch as well, his skin tingling uncomfortably. He grit his teeth and tried to rub at his skin, as if he could erase the marks in such a manner. A whimper escaped his throat in frustration; the prickling lessened, but the ache was hard to ignore.

And then the thoughts crept back in. How tomorrow he would have to face Valjean, and most likely Javert as well, in the office. How he would have to go back to debate class on Monday as if everything could continue like before. How he would have to write a letter of apology to Javert, when he was starting to think he'd rather leave the school then bow to this man again. And what would happen to the ABC Society in all of this? At the beginning of the week, he didn't think things could get any worse, and he had been proven sorely, miserably wrong.

Then a sob sounded in the dark, a sharp gasp and another, a mournful sound. Enjolras hardly recognized the noises he was making, so seldom had he wept in this manner. He brought his hand to his mouth to stifle his breaths, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears flowed onto his pillow. But it was too late to keep quiet, for he heard the rustle of blankets, Grantaire stirring in his bed.

And then footsteps, and Enjolras was certain Grantaire would tell him to calm down and go back to sleep, like that first night when Enjolras had tried to help Grantaire stop crying. But instead he felt the blankets lift, and Grantaire was climbing into bed with him, taking him into his arms. Enjolras stiffened at first, shocked, but then he let out another breath and pressed himself against him, laying his head on his chest in relief as Grantaire tucked the sheets back around them.

He must have showered after Enjolras had fallen asleep, the fresh scent of soap evident on his skin. He wasn't wearing a shirt but Enjolras wasn't wearing pants, only a single set of pajamas between the two of them, and the flannel of Grantaire's pajama pants was soft against Enjolras’s bare legs. Impulsively, Enjolras found Grantaire's hand and guided it down under the sheets toward his thigh.

“No,” Grantaire whispered, pulling his hand back, and Enjolras could tell he was afraid to hurt him.

“Please,” Enjolras begged. He tried again, taking hold of Grantaire's hand again and placing it on the back of his thigh, pressing it there and attempting to circle his wrist.

Grantaire caught on to what he was being asked to do, lightly massaging over the injured skin. “Does that feel better?” Grantaire asked cautiously.

Enjolras nodded and buried his face in Grantaire's neck with a deep, shaking breath, relaxing once Grantaire had put both hands on his thighs, rubbing them gently under the sheets. He knew he should be embarrassed, half-naked and weak, and asking to be touched in such a way, but Grantaire had come over to comfort him, and this was what he needed.

Tears continued to fall, rolling down Enjolras's cheeks and onto Grantaire's neck. “Hey, it'll be okay,” Grantaire whispered.

Enjolras swallowed, his throat tight, and took another breath, before be managed to say something he would have never thought himself capable of when he arrived at school last week. “I want to go home.” His voice, his words, were hollow.

“Me too,” Grantaire agreed sadly. He lifted a hand off of Enjolras's thigh and raised it up to stroke back his hair. As he brushed it aside, he pressed a kiss to Enjolras's forehead. “Me too.”

Enjolras opened his eyes, vaguely aware of what had just happened, and wondered if it had meant something more than a gesture of comfort. But Grantaire said nothing else, simply holding him closer in silence while the rain drummed softly on the roof. Exhausted, Enjolras allowed it to slip from his mind, and with a final, forlorn sigh, he closed his eyes and let the sound of Grantaire’s steady heartbeat eventually guide him to sleep.


	6. A Change of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The map](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) if you want. (open in a new tab as well)

Enjolras felt a gentle rise and fall beneath him, as if he were floating on the surface of a calm sea. He slowly opened his eyes and saw he was laying on Grantaire's chest, moving with him at each breath. He gasped with sudden embarrassment, tensing as he tried to remember how they had ended up in the same bed in this precarious position. But then the memory of the night before returned, along with an aching in his thighs, and he relaxed with a resigned sigh, setting his chin back down on Grantaire's chest and watching him curiously.

Grantaire was still asleep, and now that he was so close it was easy for Enjolras to observe him. He found himself reflecting on Grantaire's art lesson as he studied his features, gazing at the gentle arch of his brows, the curved angle of his jaw, the prominent slope of his nose leading to his softly parted lips. He was reaching up tentatively to touch his lightly stubbled cheek, when the alarm clock jarringly interrupted.

Grantaire moaned and stirred beneath him, reaching over blindly to make the ringing stop. When it was quiet once more he finally opened his eyes and saw Enjolras. His eyebrows drew together in confusion, as if he too was surprised to find himself waking up on this side of the room. But then he smiled softly and let out a breath, relaxing back against the pillow. “Time for class?” he asked sleepily.

“I don't want to go,” Enjolras said with a frown, shaking his head. The thought of sitting through Mathematics with Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side of him and having to explain to them what happened was a painful thought, and not just because of the hard lecture seats that would be under his injured thighs.

“Then don't,” Grantaire closed his eyes.

Enjolras felt Grantaire's hand on his head, encouraging him to lay it down on his chest again. _Don’t?_ he thought distantly as he obliged. Even when he had a cold he hadn't so much as skipped a class. But Grantaire was warm, and Enjolras was comfortable, and against his better judgement he closed his eyes and stayed in bed beside him.

They were woken a second time by a sharp rapping on their door. “Monsieur Enjolras? Monsieur Grantaire?” a voice demanded. It was Sister Simplice.

The two of them stiffened in shock, their eyes wide, but Grantaire sprung into action, jumping up out of bed and finding a shirt to pull on over his head. “Yes, Sister?” he asked with a calm facade as he opened the door.

“I was told that neither you nor Monsieur Enjolras were in attendance in your classes,” she said, her arms crossed.

Enjolras stole a glance at the clock. First period was over, second period had started an hour ago. He was missing English class, and on top of that was the looming possibility that Valjean was waiting for him in the office right now to discuss his probation.

“Enjolras is sick,” Grantaire said, gesturing to the bed.

Sister Simplice stuck her head through the door. Enjolras looked up from the bed, stoically meeting her eyes, then lay his head back down on the pillow, unsure if his pathetic act was entirely feigned. He didn't feel like himself, after all.

Sister Simplice came into the room and knelt beside Enjolras's bed, putting her hand to his forehead. Behind her back, Grantaire's eyes widened and he scrambled to grab the bottle of wine, uncorked and sitting on the floor out in the open. He quickly stashed it under his bed, pulling his blankets askew to hide any trace.

“It doesn't feel like a fever,” Sister Simplice said, half-suspicious.

“It's a migraine,” Enjolras corrected with a wince.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I'll bring you some medicine. Maybe you'll be up for your afternoon classes if you get some in your system. As for you,” she scolded as she stood up to face Grantaire, who was attempting to look as innocent as possible. “You have no reason not to be attending your class right this very minute. Monsieur Enjolras doesn't need your help.”

Grantaire nodded quickly, grabbing his uniform clothes and hurrying to put them on right then and there, even though it meant dropping his pajama pants and letting Sister Simplice have a look at his boxers.

She tsked impatiently, arms folded, until finally Grantaire was shoving his arms into his blazer and attempting to knot his tie as he headed to the door with his school bag. He took a last glance at Enjolras over his shoulder, a hint of a smile gracing his lips, and let Sister Simplice usher him out.

“I'll be back shortly,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

Enjolras was left uncomfortably alone. Class was in session and here he was, lying in bed. Did he really have an excuse? He had never missed a class before, not even when he was sick. Each and every time he fell ill, he still muscled his way to class armed with tissues and an iron will. He would never let weakness stand in his way. Yet now here he was, hiding under the covers and wondering why.

This was different. It wasn't just his body that was affected; the driving force that made him Enjolras had seemingly parted from him in that debate classroom. Did this count as not feeling well enough to attend his lessons, or was he only proving himself to be the bad student after all, skipping class when he could have chosen to get out of bed on time? He was angry at himself, uncertain of how terrible one needed to feel in order to stay in for the day, considering he had never allowed himself to before. _You're not ill, you don't have a migraine. You're just a coward and a liar,_ he told himself.

 _No!_ he thought indignantly, sitting up in bed, though the sudden movement made him wince. He lay back slowly, realizing that Sister Simplice was coming back. Charging off to class in her absence was going to chalk deception up on his growing list of behavioral problems. He would have to continue the charade if he wanted to maintain credibility.

Sister Simplice returned shortly after, joining him at his bedside to hand him two pills and a glass of water. “Take these,” she said.

“Are they painkillers?” he asked quietly, taking them from her. Maybe they would help ease the pain where it was actually hurting.

“Yes, now drink up,” she said curtly.

Enjolras took the pills, washing them down with the water, and handed the empty glass back to her. “How will I get my assignments?” he asked, truly worried.

“I'll give your teachers a call and let them know you're ill. I'll find out what I can and put a note in your mailbox”

“Thank you.”

“Good lad,” she said, patting his hand and standing up.

Enjolras watched her head for the door. “Sister,” he called out, and she turned around. “Was… was the headmaster asking to see me?”

“Not that I know of,” she said, her brows raising in bemusement.

“Oh,” Enjolras slowly nodded, before adding, “I'm going to go to my afternoon classes, if I can.”

“That's good to hear,” she said, and left him.

He let out a breath of relief and slowly sat up again, pulling aside the blankets and heading to the bathroom to get ready. Even if going out meant he could find himself getting called into Valjean's office at any moment, it was time to face the day. He couldn't avoid his classes forever, and taking the morning off was already too much of a break for him to handle. Turning in front of the mirror, he saw that the stripes on the back of his thighs had gone from red to mostly purple, darker than ever now that they had set in. He grimaced, hoping he would be able to hide his discomfort from his peers, and retrieved his uniform to get dressed.

But when he finally emerged from the dorms and gingerly walked across the rain-soaked grounds to the Great Hall, he realized that leaving the safety of his bed might have been a mistake. All of the senior boys, and even some junior boys, looked up from their lunches as he passed by on his way to the line. With so many witnesses, everyone must have heard about the confrontation in the debate classroom. Enjolras swallowed nervously and held his head up high, wondering if they possibly knew about what happened afterward. Only Grantaire and Montparnasse would have known what happened behind that door to begin with, but Montparnasse had no reason not to have told the whole school by now.

With as much dignity as he could muster amongst the whispers and glances in his direction, Enjolras carried his lunch tray over to the table where his friends were gathered. They looked up wide-eyed as he set down his tray. “Enj!” Courfeyrac said as Enjolras pulled out his chair. “Debate class. I can't believe it.”

Enjolras stared down at the hard wooden seat, before slowly easing into it as gracefully as he could manage. The painkillers seemed to be doing their job; the ache in his thighs was minimal as the bottom of the chair pressed against his bruises. “Oh?” Enjolras answered back, meeting Courfeyrac's awed stare. “Which part?” he asked cautiously.

“The whole thing! You against Javert!” Courfeyrac sputtered, his mouth hanging open. “I heard someone saying this morning you attacked him!”

“That’s not what happened,” Enjolras said flatly. “Don’t believe the gossip.”

“Then what did happen?” Combeferre pressed eagerly, joining in. “Why weren’t you in class this morning?”

 _They don’t know,_ Enjolras realized with relief. He looked down the table, at his friends all waiting to hear his tale. All except Bahorel, who poignantly frowned and looked down at his lunch when Enjolras’s eyes fell upon him. It seemed Montparnasse might have told at least one person the real story.

“It was an accident,” Enjolras said. “An accident with a rubber band. Javert got angry, and I got… detention,” he said. “Went late. Accidentally slept in.” He picked up his sandwich and took a bite to signal there was nothing more to the story. He glanced down the table, but Bahorel remained silent, concentrating on his food.

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said, sitting back. “I mean, I thought it would be a little more exciting. From the way people are talking you’d think it was some swashbuckling tale. A freedom fighter finally standing up to the tyranny of the classroom.”

 _I wish,_ Enjolras thought, shaking his head at Courfeyrac. _I wish I could stand up to what he did._ “I’m sorry to say that wasn’t what happened,” he said with a lame attempt at a smile.

“But how was detention with Javert?” Feuilly asked intently. “What did you have to do?”

“Had to go to the blackboard,” Enjolras said cryptically, taking another bite. It wasn’t a lie.

“I never understood why they think lines will help,” Courfeyrac said, stabbing a piece of melon with his fork. “The more you write down a phrase the less impact it carries. If I say a word over and over, I forget what it even means! Melon, melon, melon, melon-”

“Have any of you seen Grantaire?” Enjolras interrupted, looking around the table, but his friends only shrugged or shook their heads.

“Hey, Enj,” Jehan said, leaning across the table to be heard. “Are we going to have a booth tonight at the club fair? For the ABC?”

Enjolras froze mid-bite. He had forgotten all about the club fair, and now he was reminded of the other important thing he was hiding from the group. He swallowed painfully and looked at Combeferre. “Uh…”

“I don’t think so,” Combeferre said dismissively.

“I think there was one last year,” Jehan said, cocking his head.

“Can’t possibly compete with Mitosis,” Enjolras said, looking towards Combeferre with a guilty smile. It was at least a nice way to change the subject.

“Mitosis?” Jehan raised an eyebrow.

“The science club Joly and I are starting,” Combeferre said, proud to explain. “Debuting this evening at the club fair. Come see us at our booth”

“I’ll stop by but I can’t join. I’m already in Hamlet and orchestra, I doubt I even have time for poetry club this year,” Jehan said, shaking his head.

“He doesn’t have what it takes,” Combeferre said in a stage-whisper to Joly. “He's not a _true_ science nerd anyway.”

“Hey!” Jehan protested. “I just told you I have too many activities!”

“He _so_ doesn’t have what it takes,” Joly agreed teasingly, ignoring Jehan and nodding along with Combeferre.

They were only joking, but Enjolras felt the sting of his own mistakes coming back to him. Telling Grantaire he didn’t belong in the ABC Society. Why had he been so quick to judge? Was his perception of Grantaire any better than Javert’s unfair assumptions? He was loathe to think that he had anything in common with such a man, and wished he could take everything back, that he could start senior year over again and this time welcome Grantaire into his life. None of this would have happened if he had only been the exemplary, compassionate student that Valjean thought he was, that he _himself_ thought he was. He understood now that he had never been that boy. _Is it too late now to become him?_

After lunch, Enjolras slowly made his way over to the academic building for third period, trying to keep up with his friends. “Enj, you alright?” Courfeyrac asked, seeing he was falling behind.

“Yes,” Enjolras said quickly, hastening to keep up. “I’m fine.”

“Sore from standing at the board yesterday?” Courfeyrac guessed.

“You have no idea,” Enjolras laughed darkly, though he was glad that Courfeyrac lingered with him to walk at his side.

They parted ways once inside the building, Enjolras heading into Comparative Religion and sitting down with the same caution as he did at lunch. The other students were piling up their essays on Myriel’s desk, but Enjolras had nothing to turn in, and sat at his desk consumed with guilt for refusing to write one last night. Skipping morning classes and not completing any of his homework wasn't exactly the best way to present himself if he was destined to account for his actions in Valjean's office.

When would it happen? Shouldn't he already have been called in? Valjean had told him how short of a leash he was on, and surely he would have noticed such a violation of the law. Enjolras couldn't imagine this incident with Javert would just be forgotten, and the anticipation was burning him up inside. He was so preoccupied he could barely follow the lecture, even while sitting in a class he normally enjoyed.

“Enjolras,” Father Myriel spoke up at the end of class as the bell rang. “Come see me up here, my boy.”

 _This is it,_ Enjolras thought as he shouldered his bag and made his way to the front. _He has Valjean's message._

“I couldn't help but notice I'm missing an essay from you, Enjolras,” he said.

Enjolras had already forgotten his more immediate infraction. “Oh, sir, Father, I'm so sorry. I wasn't feeling well last night,” he said sincerely. It was certainly the truth.

“Ah. Well, that's alright. I wasn't assigning homework over the weekend. Would you like to use that time to complete it?” Myriel asked kindly.

Enjolras nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes. Thank you sir, I'll get it done.”

“Good, good.” Myriel patted him gently on the shoulder and smiled.

Enjolras smiled faintly back, relieved to see compassion again from a teacher. It gave him the faintest glow of hope that maybe he could redeem himself in the eyes of the staff, after all.

“Go on now, off to your next class,” Myriel urged.

“Thank you,” Enjolras repeated, and left.

 _Art class, then,_ he thought as he walked down the hall towards the exit. _That was when he called last time. It'll be then. And… and if he doesn't I'll just have to go to him myself._ He had gone to Valjean without prior notice before, did he really have to be so afraid now? _Yes,_ he told himself. Before he had been asking permission to hold an event, not discuss poor behavior and his future with the school. _But you have to stand up for yourself,_ he thought. _You have to tell your side of the story. You have to at least try._

After school then, he would go to Valjean's office whether he was invited or not, and see this matter was addressed. The thought of simply marching up there uninvited to challenge Javert's ruling made his heart start to race with both fear and excitement. _I have to say something, no matter what happens, no matter how it ends. I can't just stand idly by and-_

“Enjolras!”

He was shaken from his thoughts as Combeferre grabbed his arm and pulled him aside in the entranceway. “H-hi,” Enjolras said, mildly startled.

“Look, I didn't want to say this in front of the others, but I wanted to tell you that I went to see Valjean before lunch, and he-”

“You saw Valjean?” Enjolras asked, almost desperate for news. “Wait, why?”

“A-about the ABC Society, like we talked about,” Combeferre said, taken aback at the question. “I mean, I _tried_ to see him. I spoke to him briefly but he was on his way out of the office. Leaving for the weekend, going to make sure Cosette is settled. Petit-Picpus started a week after us and-”

“He's gone?” Enjolras asked blankly.

“Yes,” Combeferre said with a resigned sigh.

“And... and he didn't say anything?”

“About us? No, I didn't even get to tell him why I came to see him. I didn't want to bring it up on his way out.”

“Oh.” Enjolras looked down at the ground. Valjean was gone and not coming back until Monday. Was he not going to resolve the matter with Javert until then? _Was_ the matter resolved? Was that all there was to it? Surely Javert had reported what had happened.

“Out of the way!” As if he knew Enjolras had been thinking about him, Javert suddenly appeared in the entranceway, barking commands at them to move along.

Enjolras couldn't help but glare as he stepped aside to let Javert pass. He half-expected to see him sporting some sort of eyepatch like an old sea captain, yet there was no evidence of the incident upon him, no injury or mark whatsoever. He was unchanged. Enjolras could not say the same of himself. He bared his teeth as he watched Javert make his way to the stairs, scattering kids in his wake.

“I'll try again next week,” Combeferre said, unaware of the rage that had briefly overtaken Enjolras.

“No.” Enjolras took a breath, the voice of his friend bringing him back to his senses. “I'll go to Valjean on Monday,” he said resolutely. “I need to speak to him.”

“Alright then, if you think that's best,” Combeferre conceded.

“I do. I have to get to Art now. See you at the club fair.” Enjolras turned and hurried out of the building.

Even though the sky had cleared, the ground was still wet after the previous night’s storm. The sidewalks were flooded with puddles, and Enjolras’s shoes were soaked after he walked the short distance to the fine arts building. He grumbled his way up the stairs to the art classroom, but brightened when he saw Grantaire standing there beside an easel when he went inside.

“Grantaire,” he greeted him as he set his bag down at the easel beside him. At least in this class he wouldn't be required to sit down, which was a small relief.

“You're out of bed,” Grantaire said with a smile, pleasantly surprised.

“You weren't at lunch,” Enjolras replied.

Grantaire shook his head. “Got a lecture from Gribier for skipping the first half of Classics and then had to sit for a review of what I missed. I don’t think he cared at all that he stole my lunch hour. I'm so hungry I could eat the plastic fruit,” he said, gesturing to a basket in the corner with the still life props.

Enjolras gave a pitying laugh, but frowned. This wasn't the first time Grantaire was denied meal time on account of a teacher. “I wish I had something to give you. I ran out of chocolate a few days ago.”

“It's okay. Trip to town again tomorrow, right?” Grantaire added in a whisper.

“Right.” Enjolras turned and went to find his canvas, extracting it from a shelf, and then grimaced at what he saw. The drawing was worse than he remembered, but of course, he had tried to draw it without Grantaire's help. He brought it back over and set it on the easel. “It's terrible,” he said with a sigh.

Grantaire cocked his head, examining it. “Why don't you just start painting instead?” he suggested.

“What?” Enjolras turned to him, surprised. “I can't just start painting. I don't even know how.”

“You'd be surprised. Simply experimenting can lead to some interesting results.”

“Interesting doesn't mean good,” Enjolras said.

“Try it. You already said you don't like the drawing so what's the harm in painting over it. I do it all the time.” Grantaire pointed to his canvas, where he had started painting his presumably Hamlet-themed self portrait. “I might decide I want to change it and paint over the whole thing next week.”

“But you know what you're doing,” Enjolras argued.

“Half the time, I don't,” Grantaire shrugged. “I just try things until it works for me. Give it a go and see how you like it. Painting can be more freeing than drawing.”

Enjolras twisted his mouth indecisively, then shrugged in resignation. “Fine then. There's nothing salvageable about this sketch anyway.”

He went over to the supply cabinet, taking in all his options before selecting a paintbrush and digging through the tubes of paint. He was examining the colors when he felt the paintbrush being pulled from his hand. Surprised, Enjolras turned to see Grantaire holding the brush with a smirk, before drawing it teasingly down his cheek. It tickled, and Enjolras batted it away before rubbing at his cheek in annoyance, certain he was blushing. “Grantaire,” he scolded.

“Feel how soft that is?” Grantaire asked, fanning the bristles with his thumb. “That's a watercolor brush. Not the one you want.” He put it back and showed him another container of brushes. “Take one of these and make sure you use these acrylic paints here. The brushes get ruined if you use the wrong paint. Don't want you to get in trouble with Bamatabois.”

“No,” Enjolras agreed, frowning. He had enough teacher trouble in his life.

Grantaire helped him get set up with the rest of the supplies, selecting a palette and tubes of color, along with filling a cup of water for cleaning his brush. Then it was time to get to work, and Bamatabois came out of his office to take attendance as the rest of the students took their places at the easels. Following Grantaire's lead, Enjolras stripped off his blazer and set it safely aside, before rolling up his sleeves.

He stood then in front of his canvas, his materials on the small table beside him, and wondered how one was meant to begin a painting. Grantaire just wanted him to _go_ , as if it were that simple. He supposed he did want to get rid of his sketch though, which was the easiest place to start.

He glanced over at Grantaire's canvas. Behind his portrait was a dark background. Enjolras dipped his brush into the black paint and began covering his canvas with it in imitation. He swept his brush across the canvas from end to end, blacking it out entirely and eliminating all traces of the drawing beneath. He soon realized his mistake when he mixed a blonde color on his palette and tried to paint a stroke of it on top. It made a muddy streak across the canvas as he dragged the brush through the black paint. _Oh,_ he thought, disheartened. He was going about this all wrong, and looked to Grantaire for help, but he seemed to be preoccupied by his own painting.

Enjolras turned grimly back to his canvas, feeling stupid. Was he supposed to wait until it dried before he could paint again? He didn't even know how long it took for paint to dry. Sighing in frustration, he caught a glimpse of himself in the self portrait mirror clipped to his easel. He looked awful, he realized, his eyelids heavy from a tiresome night of crying. His hair was limp and lifeless, not having washed it during his cold shower last night. Averting his eyes, he briefly forgot himself and flopped down on the stool behind him to wait. The returning tenderness in his thighs reminded him not to do so, and he hopped back up again, gritting his teeth. He supposed he was just going to have to stand and stare at his wet canvas all class period.

“Enjolras,” Bamatabois suddenly said behind him, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Paint.”

“But-”

“No excuses, Enjolras. You're stalling. Quit wasting time.”

 _...My canvas is wet. I don't know what I'm doing. No one showed me how to paint. Isn't that your job?_ Bamatabois was already walking away, and Enjolras was at a loss. _How can I do what you ask of me if I don't know how to do it? Why won't you teach me? How can you just walk away?_ He stared after him, fuming and feeling bereft.

Before this year, he never had cause to question his school. He loved Corinthe, and had taken so much pride in calling it home. He had noticed before that there could be improvements in the system, as a member of the student council he had discussed one thing or another. But despite his questioning, he still had faith in the institution as a whole. He was realizing now, though, that there was something worth questioning that he had never thought to question before... the teachers.

Bamatabois had no interest in teaching him, without any talent to hold his attention. Javert had punished him mercilessly, without bothering to listen to the truth. It wasn't just his own treatment that upset him; now that he thought about it, there were other teachers that got away with concerning behavior. Monsieur Thenardier came to class drunk on occasion. Madame Thenardier played favorites to an extreme while often neglecting others who wanted their voice heard. Today Grantaire had been held behind so long by Monsieur Gribier he was deprived of the chance to eat, after he had already missed his first meal of the day too.

That wasn't to say all the teachers were a problem. Father Myriel's compassion toward Enjolras had been a relief. The history teacher Mabeuf was always happy to pass down his knowledge to his students. Fauchelevent was well loved and gave out gentle admonishment, as Enjolras witnessed when Grantaire spent that one morning gardening beside the science teacher. But the qualities of the good teachers did not negate those that disserviced their students. And Valjean... was he simply turning a blind eye to them? Or was he so focused on student conflict that he was unaware of what his teachers were up to?

 _Does he even know about Javert’s punishment?_ Enjolras asked himself, his fist closing around his brush in anger. _Would it even matter?_ He dipped his brush into the red paint and swiped it across his canvas carelessly. _Is Javert's judgement good enough for him?_ He coated the brush with more red, slapping it down thickly over the black paint with no discretion. _What about the rest?_ He put his thumb to the brush, fanning the bristles as Grantaire had done, and watched the red paint splatter onto the canvas. _What about my probation?_ He put his fingers into the red paint and smeared it directly onto the canvas, heedless of the mess he was making. _What about the ABC Society?_

He felt like a powder keg, ready to explode with words left unspoken. But for some reason painting felt relieving, if what he was doing could be considered painting. It was nonsensical, and he was well aware he was doing the opposite of his assignment, but he didn't care. His jaw was set, his hands determined. More paint on his brush, more paint on his fingers, and layers of red splatters on black canvas.

Bamatabois was making a slow circle around the room, peering in on student’s canvases. He stopped behind Grantaire, leaning close to examine it. “It's a bit dark,” he commented. “Dark hair, black clothes, black background. Lighten it up, you're getting lost in-”

Bamatabois halted as he noticed Enjolras with paint all down his arms, smearing it across his canvas. “Enjolras!” he gasped, immediately abandoning Grantaire's portrait to rush over to him, though Grantaire followed right behind the teacher. “Stop! Stop!” Bamatabois cried.

Enjolras looked up at him, slowly pulling his hands away, holding them up in reluctant surrender.

“It's _perfect!_ ” Bamatabois announced excitedly.

Enjolras’s eyes widened before he snorted in disbelief. “Oh _really!?”_ he asked in challenge.

Grantaire seized his shoulder, darting in. “Take the compliment,” he whispered urgently through gritted teeth.

“The passion, the emotion!” Bamatabois gushed. “Finally! I thought we'd never see such promise from you and yet here it is! Everyone, gather round!” He beckoned the class to come over.

Enjolras furrowed his brow. He didn't understand art at _all_. He stood back beside Grantaire as the other art students came to look, his paint-covered fingers fidgeting nervously.

“Look at how much he is able to communicate with just two colors. The stark red against jet black. Is this your self portrait?” Bamatabois asked.

Enjolras was pretty sure it was obvious that there was no resemblance whatsoever. “It's how I feel today,” he said reasonably.

“And what would you call this piece, do you have a title?

“Um. Red and Black?” Enjolras offered, raising an eyebrow. He was joking, and yet Bamatabois seemed to like the name.

“Red and Black, of course. See how he has really allowed himself to explore new shapes without the constraints of figurative structure,” he pointed out to the class.

“This is ridiculous,” Enjolras said under his breath to Grantaire.

“Just go with it,” Grantaire whispered beside him.

“Let’s set it aside to dry,” Bamatabois said, picking it up carefully as if it were an artifact, as the other students wandered back to their own easels.

“Sir, what… um, what should I do now?” he asked, watching his teacher carry his project away.

“Another!” Bamatabois demanded.

Grantaire stifled a laugh. Enjolras allowed himself a smile, and then it grew broader. “Sure.”

He pulled a new canvas from the shelves and spent the rest of the class period making his next alleged masterpiece, this time pairing red with green. He still had no idea what he was doing, although he didn't care. It was fun, and as he splashed paint onto the canvas his heart soared with excitement, adrenaline rushing through him. He was no artistic genius, he knew that, but he wasn't going to argue if Bamatabois wanted to praise him for making a mess. It was far better than feeling lost.

He glanced over at Grantaire, grinning, and Grantaire stopped painting to come over. “I told you to make abstract art, didn't I?”

“I'd hardly call this art,” Enjolras said. “I'm just _expressing_ myself,” he added in mock sophistication.

“Sooo… considering you've an affinity with the color, I'm guessing the red must represent you,” Grantaire analyzed playfully. “What's the green part then?”

“You,” Enjolras joked.

“Me?” Grantaire asked, putting a hand to his chest in feigned surprise. “How did you know green was my favorite color?”

“Intuition. I'm calling this one _Clash of the Roommates._ ”

“Oh, but don't you know about complementary colors?” Grantaire asked, raising an eyebrow.

Enjolras had heard the term, but he was unsure. “What about them?”

“They're each other's opposite. Red and green are complementary colors. They don't clash, they harmonize,” he smiled.

Enjolras smiled back hesitantly. “That's good to know.”

At the end of class, Bamatabois came back over. He seemed proud, as if it was his doing that Enjolras found his artistic calling. “Very good, very good. Rest up over the weekend, Enjolras, we’ll continue with this next week.”

“Sir, you mentioned another sketchbook assignment?” Enjolras asked tentatively.

“Oh. Let's… put that aside for now. You've made plenty of progress today.”

Enjolras tried to stop himself from smiling. “And what about my self portrait, sir?”

“I'd say this fulfills the assignment,” Bamatabois said thoughtfully. “You can do a whole series on your emotions!”

“Right,” Enjolras said, still pleasantly bewildered, retreating to the sink to wash off the paint.

The bell rang, and Enjolras and Grantaire grabbed their bags and blazers. As they headed downstairs, Enjolras finally allowed himself to laugh.

“For someone who didn't want to get out of bed this morning, how do you feel now?” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras pushed open the back door to the empty amphitheater, needing a moment to breathe. He felt giddy, lighter inside than he had in a week, maybe two. “Good. I feel good,” he said, as they stepped outside.

“I'm glad to hear that,” Grantaire said, giving him a soft smile. “Although I have to admit I was hoping I'd get the chance to help you with your sketchbook again this-”

Enjolras turned and shoved Grantaire towards the wall of the fine arts building. “Wha-” Grantaire started in confusion as he was pushed up against the brick, but Enjolras took hold of his face and interrupted with a kiss. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, never having done something this impulsive, this unthinkable before. He was kissing Grantaire, his roommate, right out in the open on school grounds. Grantaire's lips were softer than he imagined they could be, and he allowed himself to savor them, eyes closed blissfully, before he realized Grantaire was completely frozen.

Enjolras pulled back, and when he saw Grantaire's wide eyes, he turned bright red. “Oh… I… I…” Enjolras stammered, shaking his head as he released Grantaire's cheeks.

Grantaire reached up to grasp his wrists, keeping him from pulling his hands away, before his mouth slowly formed a smile. “...Wow,” he said, awed. “Wow, Enj.”

“Is that... good?” Enjolras asked, uncertain if Grantaire was mocking him.

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire purred, pulling him in again for another kiss.

Enjolras closed his eyes again, letting out a slow breath against his lips. It was a relief, finally succumbing to a feeling he had tried so hard to suppress. His senses were alive, electrified by the touch of Grantaire's hands, the taste of his lips, the scent of him all around. Enjolras felt he could have stayed like this, breathing him in all evening, but he pulled back as he heard the sound of students shouting at one another.

A quick glance around proved they were still alone, but students were beginning to leave their classes and set up for the club fair out in the courtyard. If someone ventured to walk around the fine arts building, they would be caught in the act. “Maybe outside isn't the best place for this,” Enjolras said guiltily, biting his lip. He could still taste him.

“Maybe not in broad daylight,” Grantaire agreed with a crooked smile, reaching up to Enjolras’s cheek. He gently rubbed his thumb across his skin. “You've got paint, right... here,” he explained, and Enjolras felt his cheeks flushing. He looked down at the ground in embarrassment, though his heart fluttered at the touch.

“Oh, now don't be shy,” Grantaire chided. “I had a feeling, you know. That you might have something like this on your mind,” he said, tapping his temple.

“How could you, though?” Enjolras asked curiously. “After all the things I've said to you?”

“You certainly made it clear you felt strongly about me,” Grantaire smirked. “Sometimes the people that infuriate us intrigue us the most.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to retort, but a new thought came to mind. “Does that mean you felt that way too?” he asked slowly, eyeing him.

Grantaire nodded. “It's true. Although I'd like to think I'm a bit more forgiving, between the two of us,” he said pleasantly. “I couldn't stay upset with you for long.”

Enjolras frowned and looked away, thinking on how he had stayed mad at Grantaire long enough not to speak to him for two days.

“Hey,” Grantaire said softly, catching his chin to make him meet his eyes again. “It's okay. You like me and I like you, we’ve admitted it. The rest is done now. Right?”

“Right,” Enjolras nodded guiltily, though the feeling faded as Grantaire leaned in for one more kiss. Enjolras gladly gave it to him, but they were interrupted by the sound of Grantaire's stomach grumbling loudly.

Grantaire pulled back with an embarrassed laugh. “As tasty as you are, I don't think my stomach is pleased I haven't eaten today.”

“C’mon,” Enjolras said, taking his hand and pulling him away from the wall. “Let's go back to the room and get changed. By the time we do, the club fair will probably be open. There'll be food.”

“Excellent,” Grantaire brightened. “We'll continue this tonight.”

Enjolras eyes widened, realizing how many possibilities were open to them in the privacy of their dorm room. “S-sure,” he said, feeling dizzily overwhelmed at the prospect as he led Grantaire around the building.

They headed over to the dorms, Enjolras dropping Grantaire's hand when they moved into plain sight. The booths were being set up in the courtyard, though they were relegated to lining the sidewalks to avoid the wet, muddy grass leftover from the storm. Enjolras caught sight of Combeferre and Joly blowing up balloons to tie to their station across the courtyard, and smiled. He was glad his friends had a booth, even if the ABC Society wouldn't have one.

“Hold on a moment,” Enjolras said to Grantaire as they entered the dorms. He went to his mailbox he shared with Grantaire and extracted the note Sister Simplice had promised to leave for him, along with another dose of painkillers in a small baggie. Underneath that though, a key sat at the bottom of his box. He felt another surge of warm feelings; it was a key to one of the package lockers beside the mailboxes, meaning his parents had sent him something. He snatched it up and found the matching locker to the number labeled on the key.

Grantaire watched him pull the package out. “Don't worry,” he joked. “I won't steal anything from it.”

“I should hope not,” Enjolras grumbled, trying not to think of the day in freshman year that the key had accidentally been placed in his roommate's box, and Montparnasse had gotten hold of it. He closed the locker and headed to the stairs with package in hand. Once in the room, he sat down on the bed with it, carefully pulling the tape off the box.

“I have to admit, I'm a little envious,” Grantaire said as he draped his blazer over his desk chair. “I wish my mother would send me something, too.”

“It's only been two weeks,” Enjolras reasoned. “She has plenty of time.” He managed to break the seals on the package and pulled open the cardboard flaps. Inside, he found an envelope with _Enjolras_ written in his mother’s handwriting set on top, above a sheet of colored tissue paper. He opened the letter first before continuing on.

_Dear Enjolras,_

_Once again, words cannot express how proud of you we are. We could not be happier to have a son as wonderful as you have grown up to be. If I could, I would do everything in my power to make you happy. However, your father has told me your headmaster called to inform us you would no longer have the privilege of living on your own this year. I am sorry to hear this, and promise you that next year we will help you find a place of your own when you go on to attend university._

_I hope that everything is going well between you and your new roommate this time around. Because of what happened in freshman year, I wanted to include something to help you, just in case. Along with some goodies for you, I have included something for him, should you need an icebreaker or peace offering._

_Please don't hesitate to use the telephone in the main office should you need to call me. I love you, sweetheart, don't ever forget that._

_Your adoring mother_

Curiously, Enjolras pulled aside the tissue paper to reveal what else was inside the box. He found new reading books, a package of homemade cookies, a pair of fleece-lined slippers, and then nestled in the side of the box, something else wrapped with tissue paper, labeled _For Roommate._

Enjolras glanced up at Grantaire. He was changing out of his school pants, standing there in his boxers as he prepared to step into a pair of jeans. Grantaire caught Enjolras looking at him, and smiled suggestively. Enjolras fought the urge to return the smile, the corners of his lips twitching guiltily as he looked back down at the box.

He picked up the little package of tissue paper and carefully unwrapped it. There were two items inside, and he raised his brows as he realized what they were. A scarf, and a package of sweets, the very same items that Montparnasse had famously stolen from his package. A new set, meant for Enjolras’s roommate to keep for himself this time. The scarf matched his own, knitted by his mother with scarlet yarn.

 _Oh Mom, you didn’t have to,_ Enjolras thought, though his heart swelled with admiration. “Grantaire,” he said, looking up again.

Grantaire was buttoning on a green plaid shirt. “Mm?”

“Come here, I have something for you.”

Grantaire grinned, intrigued, and came over to have a look.

“My mother has some gifts for you, too.” He put the box aside and stood up, unfurling the scarf. He brought it over Grantaire’s head and arranged it around his neck. “There. That’s for you.”

“Isn’t this yours?” Grantaire asked in confusion.

“No, it’s a new one,” he said, leaning over to pull open the top drawer of his dresser to show him the old one. “She made it and wants you to have it.”

Grantaire cocked his head, bewildered. “She knows about me?”

Enjolras shook his head with a crooked smile. “She knows I have a roommate. And here, this too,” he said, presenting the bag of candies and chocolate.

Grantaire was busy holding up the ends of the scarf in wonder. “For me, really?” he asked, then looked up and took the cellophane bag of sweets. “Wow. Thank you.” Grantaire stared at him, dumbfounded.

“I’ll tell my mother you liked it,” Enjolras said, hoping this made up for some of the bad times they had gone through.

Grantaire bit his lip, his fingers toying with the yarn. “I have something red to wear now,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Enjolras frowned sadly, realizing what he meant. “And look here.” He took out the package of cookies his mother had baked and iced herself. She had used cookie cutters to make them into the letters A, B, and C. “I don’t want to have to tell them. They were so happy when I came home for the summer and told them I was in charge of the club this year.” He sighed, putting the cookies back into the box. “Now I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“You might not have to say anything. It’s not for certain yet,” Grantaire said with a hint of optimism in his voice.

Enjolras was quiet for a moment, then looked back up at him. “Let’s not dwell on it,” he said firmly. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go outside.” For a moment, he considered changing out in the room like Grantaire; modesty seemed suddenly juvenile after their kiss. But then he remembered the state of his thighs, and not wanting to remind Grantaire of his injuries, he grabbed a sweater and jeans and went to change in the bathroom while Grantaire unwound the scarf and lovingly laid his new presents on his bed.

Once Enjolras was dressed, it was time for the club fair to open. “You don't mind if I walk around with you, do you?” Grantaire asked as they went down the steps in front of the dorm.

“No, no of course not,” Enjolras said, giving Grantaire a reassuring look. “I want to walk around with you too. Let's find you some food.”

The courtyard was beginning to buzz with activity, students gathering to inspect the booths and play the carnival games. By far though the attraction gathering the most attention was the food carts run by Sister Simplice and Father Myriel. They got in line on the sidewalk, Grantaire bouncing impatiently on his toes as they waited, but luckily the queue moved fast and soon it was their turn.

“Enjolras,” Sister Simplice greeted him. She was manning the popcorn machine, while Myriel struggled to catch the spinning cotton candy on a paper cone.

“Hello Sister,” Enjolras nodded. “Thank you for your help today. I attended my afternoon classes.”

“He did,” Myriel piped up as he tried to wrangle the cotton candy, having gotten far too much wrapped around the cone.

“That's good to hear,” she said, handing over a striped bag of popcorn.

“Um, are these free?” Grantaire whispered nervously in Enjolras’s ear, but Sister Simplice had heard him.

“You don't need to pay for anything here, Monsieur Grantaire,” she answered.

“Two hot dogs and a cotton candy,” he said immediately, half desperate.

“I'll take a hot dog, too,” Enjolras added, trying not to laugh. “I'll share my popcorn,” he told Grantaire.

With a lot of food and no free hands, they went to sit down on a stone bench in the middle of the courtyard to eat their hot dogs before wandering the fair. “Not too fast,” Enjolras scolded as Grantaire nearly ate his first hot dog in one bite. “You'll get sick.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, swallowing thickly. “Sorry. I'm just really excited about eating.” His other hand held the cotton candy at the ready, with no place to set it down.

“I know. I hope you're feeling better now,” Enjolras said as he ate his hot dog too.

“Yes. And you?” Grantaire subtly lowered his hand to point out where Enjolras’s legs met the stone seat.

Enjolras shifted. “Could be better but I'm fine.” He would take the second dose of medication when they got back. “Don't worry about me.”

When they had finished their hot dogs, and taken turns at the water fountain beside the bench, they strolled through the booths with the popcorn and cotton candy in hand, reading the handmade painted signs surrounding them. Poetry Club. Nature Lovers. Paper Airplane Pilots. Gardening Club. Aspiring Novelists Association. There was even a table recruiting for the school’s tiny diving team. Enjolras spotted a sign for the art club, lovingly painted. Two students from their class were manning the booth. “What do you think?” he asked Grantaire. “Would you want to join the art club?”

“Nah,” Grantaire said dismissively. “I'm already the lead in the play. No more obligations for me, I'm just here for the food. Besides, I've already got my own little art student to take care of outside of class,” he teased as he reached over for some of Enjolras's popcorn.

Enjolras smirked at him. “Don't you remember? I'm a prodigy now, I might not need you after all.”

“Don't break my heart, Enj. We had a nice time last weekend, didn't we?”

“We did,” Enjolras nodded in agreement. “It would have been better though if there was no art assignment and we had just…” he trailed off, remembering how much he had wanted to kiss him during the private art lesson in their dorm room. A paper airplane sailed right past his nose, making him jump in surprise, but Grantaire caught it out of the air and sent it sailing back to the booth where it came from.

“We had just...?” Grantaire prompted, turning back to him with a grin.

“It's nothing,” Enjolras shook his head.

“Well... how about you then? Any clubs for you this year?”

Enjolras stared off at the booths lining the walkway. “You know… there's this one I'm quite fond of.”

“Oh yeah?” Grantaire asked, tearing off a piece of cotton candy.

“Yes. I just so happen to be the leader of it too, but-”

“Ah,” Grantaire said, catching onto Enjolras's joke. “No booth, huh?”

“We could have gotten away with one, considering Valjean's not even here,” he grumbled.

“Why have a booth anyway, though? I mean if you don't really want anyone joining?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras looked up at him sharply. _No, that's not…_ He shook his head with a sigh. In the past, the booth had been used to help interested students sign up for their interviews, that's how Enjolras had joined when he was a freshman. There was no point in trying to make Grantaire understand, they had argued enough on the topic. Though the idea suddenly struck him a beat later... was the ABC Society another part of the school that could use some improvement?

Grantaire tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him away from the thought. “Look,” he said, pointing across the sidewalk to where the Mitosis booth was set up, balloons tied to the table. They had brought some of their dorm room decorations, the table littered with Joly’s gem collection and Combeferre's framed bat skeleton.

“So tell me about this thing called science,” Enjolras said in greeting, leaning over the table.

“Ah! Glad you asked,” Combeferre said with a smile. “Allow Joly to demonstrate for you a bit of wonder.”

“Baking soda volcano?” Grantaire teased, tearing off a piece of cotton candy.

“What do you think we are, amateurs?” Combeferre said. “Joly, if you please.”

Joly stood up, extracting from under the table something made of cardboard and balsa wood, a model rocket. Behind their table was a small metal disc sitting on a tripod in the muddy grass, with a vertical rod attached to it. Joly slid the rocket down onto the rod, then clamped a rickety wire to the bottom of it. The wire led to a simple circuit controller in his hand, and he stepped back.

“Watch out everybody,” he warned, glancing back at the booth beside theirs. He flipped a switch on the controller, and the rocket began to sputter. Suddenly with a loud _whoosh_ it was gone, soaring upward in a cloud of smoke. All the nearby students looked skyward as the rocket flew higher and higher, than with a soft pop at the peak of its journey, a parachute emerged from the nose and it slowly floated back down to earth. A group of freshman boys ran to catch it.

“Impressive,” said Enjolras as he looked back to Combeferre.

“You know, for a club called Mitosis, I expected biology,” Grantaire said. He reached over for more of Enjolras’s popcorn.

“Joly and I prefer the life sciences, it’s true. But we embrace all varieties, physics and chemistry included. Besides, you can’t deny a little show like that.”

“And they wouldn’t let us take a microscope out of the lab. We asked,” Joly added dryly.

“That too,” Combeferre agreed. The freshman boys had retrieved the rocket and were running up to the booth, eager to have them demonstrate again. “Sign up right here and we’ll teach you how to make one,” he said proudly, pushing a clipboard over to them. “One at a time now.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Enjolras said with a smile, backing away and beckoning Grantaire to follow, now that Mitosis had gathered a small crowd.

They spent the rest of the fair wandering idly, and playing some of the carnival games set out between booths. Grantaire won a deck of cards at a ring toss, which he pocketed with satisfaction, and Enjolras popped enough balloons in a dart game to earn a candy bar, which he shared with Grantaire. Near the end of the evening, they ran into Courfeyrac, who was holding up a football painted with the school colors. “Get excited!” he shouted.

“Why?” Enjolras asked, bewildered.

“Monday night we play the National Academy! Everyone has to come watch us destroy ’em!”

“Is the team even ready?”

“Ready as ever,” Courfeyrac insisted. “But we can't do it without you cheering us on.”

“I'll be there, don't worry.” Enjolras smiled at him as they parted, but he frowned thoughtfully after once he was out of sight. With everything that had been going on, he wasn't entirely sure what would happen by Monday evening It was hard to plan that far ahead, with thoughts of disciplinary measures clouding his mind.

“Want the last piece?” Grantaire asked, pulling him back to the present as he offered a fluff of cotton candy between his fingers, awfully close to Enjolras's lips.

“Grantaire,” he scolded softly, taking the cotton candy from him with his fingers instead before putting it in his mouth.

Grantaire pulled his hand back and shrugged with a smile, licking the sugar from his fingers.

Enjolras watched, his cheeks reddening, though he wasn't sure if Grantaire would notice now that it was getting dark. The fair was closing and students were beginning to clean up their booths. “Do you want to stay out a bit longer?” Enjolras asked. “You know, just walk around a little more?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said, as they headed off in the direction the lake.

They slowly walked the expanse of the lake in relative silence under the darkening sky. The only sounds were their feet in the grass, the water lapping at the rocks on the banks, and the rustle of the trees shifting in the night breeze. Enjolras was known to be one that liked to talk; long stretches of quiet in the company of another usually meant something was wrong, as was the case between he and Grantaire before. But now, it didn't feel so wrong. Enjolras had plenty on his mind but Grantaire's presence beside him was comforting, and when they reached the other side, farthest from the school, Grantaire took his hand.

Enjolras squeezed it gently, holding on. At this distance it wouldn't matter if someone saw two figures walking beside each other in the dark; their joined hands wouldn't be seen. He couldn't exactly explain how he felt, either to Grantaire or himself, but relief was certainly among his emotions. He had been holding something down inside him, so intently it angered him whenever it dared to resurface. But now that he had stopped trying, he felt so much lighter, as if he could finally breathe after holding his breath for so long.

He had felt a glimpse of this calm once before, last Sunday when the two of them had been sitting by the lake, Enjolras drawing while Grantaire lay in the grass beside him. He thought back, and suddenly remembered something he had been asked that day as they sat out in the sun together. “Come with me,” he said, tugging on Grantaire’s hand and urging him to hurry along around the perimeter of the lake, back towards the school.

“I wasn't going anywhere else,” Grantaire said with amusement, following behind.

Halfway to the Great Hall, Enjolras stopped where the rowboats were lying upside down on a rack near the rocky shore. “Last week you said you'd like to go boating with me on Friday,” he said hopefully. “Well, it's Friday. How about it?”

Grantaire grinned, his eyes shining in the darkness. “I'd love to. But didn't you say you can't go boating after dark?”

Enjolras glanced back in the direction of the fair. Through the trees and hedges he could see the last booths being dismantled. Most of the students had dispersed, or gone back to the dorms. “You can't,” he agreed. He looked over at the Great Hall, the nearest building. The windows were black; the cafeteria had been closed in favor of the food at the club fair. “But I don't care anymore,” he finished, grabbing a rowboat to drag down to the water.

Grantaire scurried to help him. “Really? You? Knowingly breaking a rule?” he asked teasingly.

“It's all arbitrary now anyway, isn't it?” Enjolras reasoned. “Considering I've been punished for something I didn't do, it doesn't seem to matter whether I'm good or bad. Besides, we can stay on this side of the lake. The trees will hide us.”

With a heave, they turned the boat over right side up. Then they each found an oar and fit them into the iron rings on the sides of the boat. “Get in,” Grantaire said, positioning himself behind the boat to push off. Enjolras stepped in, heading towards the oars. “I'll row,” Grantaire interrupted.

Enjolras was about to protest, but as he sat down on the hard wooden plank, he remembered his pains and decided that all the back and forth motion involved in rowing wouldn't be so good for his thighs. Besides, Grantaire was the one with the arm muscles. “Fine with me,” Enjolras conceded, as he switched to the other seat.

Grantaire pushed the boat out into the water, and hopped over Enjolras to sit at the oars, manning them to pull them away from shore. “So are you throwing all caution to the wind now?” he asked mildly. “Surely you aren't taking a page out of my book.”

“It's not that. It's just that I feel…” Enjolras paused to think, watching the water ripple and swirl as the oars cut through it. “Betrayed,” he decided. “I feel betrayed by Corinthe. I've seen a side of it I never thought I'd see. Or… no, it's not Corinthe itself, but the teachers. The ones that abuse their authority.”

“You mentioned that on the first day of school,” Grantaire said. “In debate class.”

Enjolras looked up. “I didn't even know at the time, how much I would mean it now. I was playing it up, I was scolding Javert for giving you a second detention. Though I've always known it was unfair that we don't have a standardized system for discipline. That’s why I was so curious as to what your detention with Javert was going to be. The teachers are allowed to decide how to punish a student, instead of having a permanent system set in place. On one hand you can have an hour of gardening and on the other, four crippling hours of lines.”

“Or caning without warning,” Grantaire said grimly as he pulled on the oars.

Enjolras shifted uncomfortably.

“Did you know Javert would do something like that?” Grantaire continued.

Enjolras was quiet for a moment, thinking back. “I may have heard stories when I was a freshman, that students, past students from a decade ago, had been punished like that. People said all kinds of things about Javert when first I got here, it's hard to remember. But now? Recently?” He shook his head.

“Let me ask you this then. How many people have you told about this?”

“No one,” Enjolras said quickly. “And only you and Montparnasse know about it, since you overheard. And… well, I think Bahorel knows, by the looks of it, but hopefully Montparnasse didn't tell anyone else.”

“If you didn't tell anyone though, then imagine the other kids who didn't tell anyone either,” Grantaire suggested.

Enjolras stared down at the water, slowly nodding. He was right. Any number of kids could have kept quiet about something like that, if it happened to them.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought all this up,” Grantaire said guiltily.

“No, it was me. I brought up the whole issue with the school.”

“And why you're taking a little revenge by breaking the rules and boating after dark,” Grantaire added.

“A small protest. Harmless really. I’m taking something back for myself. I…” Enjolras sighed. “I'm not really sure why. Considering my probation, if they caught us, I’d be-”

“Hey,” Grantaire interrupted. “You don't have to explain it to me, Enj. Sometimes breaking the rules just feels like the right thing to do. Take it from a professional slacker,” he said proudly. “I completely understand.”

Enjolras smirked. “Well, I'm not trying for anarchy or anything,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a little rebellion.” He dropped his hand and let his fingertips skim the water.

“I hear you,” Grantaire said. He stopped rowing to rest his arms, letting the boat float gently in place, the oars resting in their iron rings. “And I'm more than happy you suggested it, I had nearly forgotten we had a tentative date.”

Enjolras blushed at the word. “Date? When you asked me on Sunday to go boating, did you mean it like that?” he asked, although he wasn't entirely sure if Grantaire meant it like that now either.

Grantaire twisted his mouth into a sly smile. “I wanted you to take it however you wanted to.”

“Another one of your dominoes?” Enjolras asked. “Set it up and see if it falls?”

“Something like that. I guess it did, didn't it? I have to admit, if you hadn't kissed me, I don't know if I ever would have told you how much I liked you.”

Enjolras watched him, unsure how Grantaire could like him so much after some of the things he had said to him. “Why wouldn't you?” he asked softly.

“Oh, I can't imagine the reaction if I had misjudged and you wanted nothing to do with me. That would have made our dorm room a rather awkward place to be.”

“Ah. But… but when was it that you started to like me?”

Grantaire smiled. “First day of class. Debate.”

“What!?” Enjolras shook his head, puzzled. That first class was when he had decided to despise Grantaire.

“You were so cute when you were angry. I mean, the rooming situation afterward was a bit of a mess, but I loved that I caught your attention.”

Enjolras drew his brows together. It was hard to picture the things that had passed between them from another perspective. “And when did you start to suspect that I might have been interested?” he asked airily.

“Oh, hm…” Grantaire thought. “I might have sensed hints along the way, but when I was tutoring you on Saturday you were acting awfully strange.”

Enjolras bowed his head in embarrassment. “I can't explain it.”

“You don't have to. I had a suspicion you might have been hard,” he teased. “Covering yourself with a book is the oldest trick in the… well, you know.”

Enjolras darkened. “Don't be mean.”

“Hey, you're not the only one. I've thought about you like that, too.”

He looked up again, his heartbeat quickening. “Really?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

“Yes. I'm just a little better at hiding it.”

Enjolras let out an embarrassed huff. “I thought you'd prefer to think of me when you were beating up a punching bag.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, even when I was upset with you I never imagined that. Never with you.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Enjolras said, slightly comforted. He fell silent then, and listened to the sounds of the night around them; the soft slosh of the water against the side of the boat, the crickets in the grass, the leaves rustling in the wind. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars, tiny bright lights in the darkness.

“I want you to know, Enjolras…” Grantaire started slowly.

“Hm?”

“You kissing me today, that's the best thing that's happened to me in a long while.”

Enjolras looked back at Grantaire, his heart starting to flutter again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded. “I don't just mean these past two weeks, I mean, in a _long_ while. Besides, it's not everyday you have your first kiss.”

Enjolras cocked his head. “You too?”

Grantaire laughed. “Gosh, I hate to ruin the image of me as a scoundrel in your mind, but yes. No one’s ever taken a proper liking to me before. Another reason why I couldn't be too sure that you did.”

“But…” Enjolras paused. He had always assumed that students who attended co-ed schools had all sorts of romantic endeavors in high school. But despite the fact that Grantaire had mentioned attending rowdy parties, Enjolras seemed to remember him saying his knowledge didn't come with experience.

“But maybe kissing just comes naturally to me,” Grantaire jokingly finished Enjolras's sentence. “That's why you couldn't tell. I'm just that good.”

Enjolras smirked, leaning over the side of the boat to splash water up at him. “Idiot,” he scoffed. “You didn't even move the first time.”

“But the second time was all me,” Grantaire boasted.

“It was _not_ ,” Enjolras protested, dipping his hand in the water again to toss a sparkling arc in his direction.

Grantaire dodged the water. “Perhaps I should remind you of my expertise.” He shifted out of his seat.

“Stay put,” Enjolras warned, feeling himself bob down with the change in weight.

But Grantaire hadn’t noticed, and suddenly the boat rocked, listing to one side as he clambered over toward Enjolras.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras yelped, hanging onto the side, his arm half submerged.

“Oh, shit.” Grantaire froze, holding his arms out in an attempt to keep balance. The boat wobbled precariously, and Grantaire wavered where he stood, his arms tilting from side to side, and then with a great lurch, Enjolras felt himself plunging into the watery depths.

For a moment he was so shocked he could only float in suspension, bubbles flowing from his nose. It was ice cold, and so dark he couldn't discern which way was up or down. His heart raced madly in his chest, and suddenly he snapped out of his daze, kicking out wildly to propel himself forward. He broke the surface gasping for air, and as he took a breath he realized he was still in a pitch black darkness, his breaths echoing around him. “Grantaire!?” he called out, panicking as he tread water.

He heard the water sloshing around him, the sound of the surface breaking again, and suddenly he felt a hand graze his arm. “There you are,” Grantaire said with a sigh of relief. “Didn't know you were under the boat. Are you okay?”

Enjolras realized the boat had flipped upside down, creating a small dome around them, though he could see nothing, not even Grantaire in front of him. “I'm _wet,_ you oaf,” he scolded, his voice echoing all around their enclosure. “And cold.”

“It's not that cold,” Grantaire assured him. He felt Grantaire's hands find his cheeks, cradling his face. “Stop swimming, you can touch the bottom.”

Enjolras reluctantly slowed his kicking and stretched his legs out, feeling for the bottom. His feet found the sand and he relaxed, though the water came up to his chin. “Barely,” he mumbled. “What do we do now?”

“Well, let's see. Where were we?” Grantaire asked. The sound of his voice was closer, his presence right upon him. “Oh yeah…”

Enjolras felt Grantaire's nose touch his before he met his lips. It was a tentative kiss, almost apologetic, and Enjolras allowed it, for a moment. Though the two of them were wet and cold, Grantaire's mouth was warm. “I meant about the boat,” Enjolras said softly, as Grantaire pulled back.

“We can walk it to shore. It's not so far. C’mon.” Grantaire let go of his cheeks and ducked under the water.

Enjolras followed suit, holding his breath as he sunk back underwater, maneuvering out from under the boat. He surfaced again, thankfully able to see their surroundings again as he wiped the water from his eyes. Grantaire was nearby, pushing his hair off his forehead.

“Right,” he said, checking to make sure the oars were still stuck in their rings. “Now grab hold and let's go.”

They got on either side of the bow, each hooking a hand underneath, and half-walked, half-swam back towards the rocky shore, the boat sending broad ripples across the dark water. After several minutes of dragging the boat along behind them, they reached dry land, emerging from the water. They hauled the rowboat up onto the shore, lining it up with the other boats on the rack, and put the oars away.

“Well, that was certainly something.” Enjolras said as he twisted up the bottom of his sweater, squeezing water out of it onto the rocks.

“I'm sorry,” Grantaire said guiltily, shaking out his shoes. “My fault for certain this time.”

Enjolras couldn't help but laugh. “It's not the worst thing that's happened this week. Let's just… let's just hope no one asks why we’re wet.”

They walked back to the dorms, shivering in the evening breeze, their wet clothes stuck to their sides. There were a few students lying around in the courtyard now that the fair had been taken down, but their journey went unnoticed in the dark. Enjolras looked around nervously as they squelched up the dormitory stairway, but thankfully no one crossed their path, even as they left wet footprints down the hall.

He let out a breath once they were safely on the other side of their bedroom door. “Can't wait to take a hot shower.”

“Me neither,” Grantaire agreed. He was hugging himself to keep warm.

They looked at each other a moment. “Do you want to go first?” Enjolras offered politely, even though he sorely wanted to shower right away.

“It's alright, you go on,” Grantaire said dismissively. He reached into his pocket and frowned, pulling out the waterlogged deck of cards he had won at the fair. “Oh no…” he said sadly.

“Lay them out, they'll dry,” Enjolras advised, and turned to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. He slipped his hand into the shower and turned on the hot water, remembering last night when it had burned the stripes on his thighs. Tonight, he knew they would be fine, now that they had transitioned to darkened bruises. He made sure the water wasn't too hot, just in case, and then carefully peeled off his wet clothes, catching a glimpse of the bruises in the mirror as he did.

He was about to step into the shower when he heard a knock at the door. “...Yes?” he called cautiously.

Grantaire seemed to think this was permission to open the door, and Enjolras scrambled to cover himself with a towel as he stuck his head in the bathroom. He was still shivering, his arms tucked against his chest. “Would it be alright if I just… joined you?” he begged.

Enjolras took one look at the sorry state he was in and nodded, opening the door to admit him. “Take those clothes off,” he instructed, shutting the door behind Grantaire, watching him warily and still holding his towel tightly together with one hand behind his back. Grantaire seemed to be having trouble with his buttons, his fingers shaking, and Enjolras sighed, tucking his towel securely in place so he could help. “It’s not _that_ cold,” he chided sarcastically, repeating Grantaire's words at the lake as he pushed his hands aside, unfastening the buttons himself.

“It wasn't,” Grantaire protested. “But out of the water…”

“Hush, I know,” Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire's shirt off his shoulders once the buttons were undone. “I take it you can manage your pants?”

He nodded and fumbled with his belt, and Enjolras swallowed as Grantaire stood there with his hands poised to drop his pants. Grantaire paused, watching Enjolras uncertainly, before he did, the wet jeans and boxers sliding down together, leaving Grantaire naked as he stepped out of them.

Enjolras took a quick glance before looking away shyly, gesturing to the shower with a sweep of his hand for Grantaire to get in. When he had, Enjolras finally reached for the towel around his waist and let it fall. Biting his lip nervously, he followed Grantaire into the shower, naked in front of him for the first time. Grantaire stood beneath the hot water for a minute, warming himself, then stepped back to give him a turn under the faucet. Enjolras turned his back to him as they switched places, hiding his blush, although he knew he was letting him have a good look at the marks on his thighs instead.

“Does it hurt still?” Grantaire asked behind him.

“When I sit. In the boat it did,” Enjolras said, tipping his head and rinsing the lake water from his hair.

“Do you want me to rub your thighs again tonight?” Grantaire was almost hopeful.

Enjolras looked over his shoulder, his mouth forming a sideways smirk. “No. Not tonight. They're bruised now, as you can see”

“I thought as much. Just wanted to ask,” Grantaire shrugged innocently, as Enjolras stepped aside to let him under the stream again.

As the water ran down Grantaire's body, Enjolras couldn't help but watch. His skin was flushed from the heat, his muscles taut as he guided a bar of soap across his torso. His dark hair hung in wet curls against his forehead, and the back of his neck. Enjolras eyes traveled over him, studying his form and shape as if it were another art lesson. It was far more than an academic curiosity though, and he couldn’t look away. But for the first time since he started to feel physical desire for Grantaire, he didn't hate himself for feeling this way, or pretend that it meant something else. He was simply, helplessly, attracted to Grantaire.

He reached out, his hand poised indecisively, unbeknownst to Grantaire who was turning under the faucet to rinse himself. _Should I?_ Enjolras thought, before gathering up his courage. He gently grazed Grantaire’s back with the tips of his fingers, trailing them down his spine, and Grantaire turned to him without hesitation, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he stepped out of the water. His arms encircled Enjolras and pulled him in, their lips meeting once more.

This time, Grantaire slipped his tongue between Enjolras’s lips, and Enjolras opened his mouth to him. It was clumsy at first, with Enjolras not knowing how to kiss and Grantaire as eager as a dog. But Enjolras put his hands to Grantaire’s face, guiding him back, and after he took a breath Enjolras leaned back in, encouraging him to try again, soft and slow.

Grantaire adapted, calmer this time, playfully swiping his tongue in between his lips and back, and it made Enjolras laugh, breaking the kiss. “Feeling better?” he asked Grantaire, his cheeks warm beneath his fingers.

“Much better,” Grantaire agreed.

“Good.” Enjolras guided the two of them under the stream, the water falling over their heads. The steam and heat in the shower was far better than their cold foray into the lake. As Enjolras leaned in for another kiss, their bodies pressing together, he realized he was aroused. And from the gentle prodding at his belly, he knew Grantaire was too.

Enjolras took a step back, his eyes venturing down. “Yes, have a look,” Grantaire said lightly, though he seemed suddenly shy as he averted his eyes to the shower wall. His cheeks were red from the heat, but Enjolras was certain he was blushing even so.

Grantaire didn't need to be nervous, because Enjolras was certainly drawn to what he saw. Everything about Grantaire's body reminded him of ideal virility, a masculine maturity that slender Enjolras lacked himself, from the hair on his body to the length of his cock. And though he had wondered before if he was jealous of Grantaire, there were no negative emotions bottled inside him now, replaced by a sense of intrigue and possibility.

“May I… touch?” he asked hesitantly, looking back up to meet his eyes.

“Uh… huh, yes, _yes_. F-feel free,” Grantaire stammered.

Enjolras nodded, his hand slowly reaching down, and Grantaire watched with anticipation. His fingers alighted on the head of Grantaire's cock, and he heard him let out a shaking breath, a sound of excitement. Encouraged, Enjolras closed his hand around it, his fingers attempting to find their place. It was so different, feeling the velvety tip of Grantaire’s erection instead of his own, but he hoped that the same ways he pleased himself would work on Grantaire.

Enjolras put a hand on Grantaire's chest and gently guided him backward, pushing him up against the shower wall. His other hand remained on his cock, almost afraid to let go in case this sudden courage left him. But Grantaire was watching him dreamily, rubbing himself against his hand in hopes of more, and Enjolras’s confidence rose. “Do you like this?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking the ribbing beneath the head.

“I… um… mmmm…” Grantaire closed his eyes, relaxing against the wall, and nodded slowly.

“I'll keep going then,” Enjolras said with a wry smile. He continued to rub the pad of his thumb over that sensitive spot, knowing how good it usually felt on himself, and marveled at the sounds of Grantaire’s breaths growing heavier, satisfied that it pleasured him too. But Grantaire was impatient for more, and he put his hand over Enjolras’s, attempting to guide him, practically begging him to slide his hand downward. “I know, I know, I'm getting to that,” Enjolras promised. “I know what I'm doing.”

Grantaire let him go, instead reaching up to loop his arms around Enjolras's neck and pull him in closer. Enjolras leaned in obligingly, nosing Grantaire’s cheek as he moved his hand down his shaft. “Ohhhh...” Grantaire groaned appreciatively, turning his head to nuzzle into Enjolras’s wet hair.

Clouds of steam rose up around them, the air thick with heat, and the water flowed over them, streaming down Enjolras’s back and thighs as he pressed Grantaire against the wall. He stroked him, running his hand up and down the length of Grantaire’s cock, slowly at first before increasing his pace, faster and faster. Grantaire took hold of his chin and pulled him into another kiss, thrusting into his hand, though from the way he trembled against Enjolras, he knew Grantaire didn't have long.

Enjolras nibbled at his lower lip before he pulled away from the kiss, his eyes on Grantaire. He wanted to see Grantaire's face, and as he watched his eyelids fluttering, and his chest heaving with each quickening breath, Enjolras wondered what exactly he was feeling. What would it be like, to have no say, no control over the motion or speed of the hand upon him, to experience the unexpected touch?

Enjolras slid his hand down to the base of Grantaire’s shaft and held it there, grasping him firmly. Grantaire tried to thrust once more, but Enjolras slipped his other hand down and caught hold of the head of his cock, his thumb quickly circling over the tip, smooth and slick beneath his touch. He felt the frantic pounding of Grantaire's pulse within, heard his ragged breaths echoing around them, and suddenly Grantaire gasped, and came. Enjolras felt the warmth flow over his fingers, and let out a breath himself, not realizing he had been holding it in anticipation.

Grantaire was panting to catch his breath, his head tilted back against the tile with eyes closed, and Enjolras gently released him. “How was that?” he prompted curiously, hoping he had done well.

“That was…” Grantaire paused to let out a huff. “G-good, good, that was good,” he sighed. “Thank you.” He seemed to come back to himself, his mind recovering from a daze. “Do you want me to-”

“That's alright,” Enjolras said, turning to rinse his hand, before retrieving the shampoo. “I think I've tired you out for now.”

He was in the middle of washing his hair when Grantaire suddenly pulled him into a grateful embrace. Enjolras's hands froze in confusion, before he relaxed into his arms with a laugh. “You're welcome,” he said belatedly.

Later, when they were warm and dry, dressed in their pajamas and Enjolras in his new slippers, they sat on opposite sides of their room in a calm and comfortable silence. Grantaire was on the floor carefully laying out his wet playing cards to dry, and Enjolras, after taking the extra painkiller Sister Simplice had left in his mailbox, lay on his bed and scribbled an outline for the essay he needed to make up for Father Myriel.

 _Faith._  
Faith in another person.  
Faith in yourself.  
Faith in an institution.  
Blind faith… dangerous.

He frowned at his notes, spinning his pen idly in his fingers, thinking of how trustingly he had placed his faith in the school. He still had faith in it, but there were things sorely in need of addressing. He was beginning to think he was misinterpreting the sort of faith he was meant to be writing about, when he heard a soft noise. A sad sound.

Enjolras looked up from the bed. Grantaire was looking right back at him alert. Then the sound came again, louder, and it was a voice calling out forlornly.

“Bahorel… Bahorel… please…”

They listened quietly to a few more whimpered words. “He's in the hallway,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras got up with a sigh, crossing to the door and opening it to have a look. Montparnasse was in a teary heap on the floor, stationed in front of Bahorel's door and pawing at it sadly like a cat left out in the rain. When he turned his head and saw Enjolras standing in the doorway, he quickly got up, turning pale, and slinked away down the hall, back toward the room he shared with Claquesous.

Enjolras stared after him, watching until Montparnasse was out of sight, and as he was turning to go back inside, he heard Bahorel's door creak open.

Bahorel stuck his head out, looking taken aback to see Enjolras in front of him. He glanced down the hallway, clearly wondering where Montparnasse had gone.

“He went back to his room,” Enjolras said plainly.

Bahorel turned back to Enjolras with a frown, releasing the doorknob and crossing the hall. “I'm so sorry, Enj. About what happened yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, hoping he wouldn't make a fuss about it. “Please don't tell anyone,” he added hesitantly, aware that he hadn't been so kind when Bahorel had asked him to keep a secret last Friday night.

“I won't,” he promised, looking at him sadly. He pulled him into a crushing hug, Enjolras finding himself tightly squished between his large arms and chest.

“I'm okay,” he managed, his voice muffled, though he was glad to have the support of his friend. He pushed back for air, looking up at Bahorel. “You don't have to shut him out, if it's just on my account. If this is about what happened at the end of debate.”

“But… Enj, what he said-” he began to protest.

Enjolras shook his head. “I can't help but think he wouldn't have said those things, if I hadn't been so cold to the both of you. Montparnasse and I have never gotten along but, you and I… I shouldn't have been like that. You were right, whatever's between you isn't about me. You don't have to make it about me now, either.”

Bahorel stared at him, uncomprehending. “But if Montparnasse hadn't said what he did, Javert-”

“Javert would have done what he did whether Montparnasse was there or not. And even if Montparnasse’s words mattered, it was only a decision between Grantaire and I, and I'm glad it wasn't Grantaire. He doesn't deserve that.”

“Neither did you.”

Enjolras waved his hand dismissively. “Don't worry about it. I'll handle Javert. You, you should talk to Parnasse.”

“You think so?” Bahorel asked reluctantly, tilting his head.

“I think he regrets what happened. We might be on the verge of a breakthrough,” Enjolras said with a soft laugh, attempting to lighten the mood. “Like I said, maybe you can teach him to be a better person. You’re a far better influence than that awful gang of his, so it might do some good. I mean, that is, if you want to be with him. I appreciate you standing up for me but I think it would be better to help him, rather than push him away.”

Bahorel hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “For saying so.”

Enjolras gave him a small smile and patted him gently on the shoulder. “Just remember if you get back together, keep it down over there,” he joked.

Bahorel smirked knowingly. “Hey, you didn't hear a sound from me all week, did you?”

“Not at all. I'm just teasing.”

“Goodnight, Enj,” Bahorel said, giving him a gentle cuff on the chin and turning away to his room.

“Night,” Enjolras said, stepping back and closing the bedroom door behind him.

“Everything alright?” Grantaire asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

“Yeah,” Enjolras smiled, feeling as if another weight had lifted off his chest. “It's alright.”

Later, when he had managed to write out his essay and it was time to sleep, Enjolras climbed into bed and settled under the blankets. As he leaned over to turn off the lamp, he paused with his hand on the switch, looking over at Grantaire who was getting comfortable in his own bed. “I had a nice time with you tonight,” Enjolras said, reflecting on the past few hours.

“I'm sure falling in the lake was your favorite part,” Grantaire said with a grin.

“No,” Enjolras said with an exasperated laugh. “But even so. Compared to last night, tonight was… _so_ much better.”

“I agree,” Grantaire nodded serenely. “Couldn't have asked for better, really.”

“I'm really glad that we're…” Enjolras trailed off. _Friends?_ Friends wasn't the right word, they had skipped right past friendship into something else entirely. He switched out the light, leaving them in darkness.

“What were you going to say?” Grantaire asked softly from the other side of the room.

“...together,” Enjolras finished. “I’m glad we’ve been put together, as roommates. I know before I said so many other things but… now… and especially last night, when you were beside me...”

“Enj,” Grantaire interrupted, seeming to realize how difficult it was for Enjolras to express this sort of emotion. “I’m glad we’re together, too.”

Enjolras smiled softly to himself, and closed his eyes. As he took a deep breath to relax, he caught Grantaire’s scent under his nose. He sniffed, confused, and pressing his face into the pillow he realized Grantaire’s scent still lingered from the night before when he had slept there. He took another slow breath, enjoying it, but at the same time he felt a longing so deep it bordered on shameful. Did Grantaire ever feel this way, too?

He was all too aware that Grantaire was lying so nearby. With a sigh, he tried to tell himself to go to sleep, but he couldn’t seem to calm his heartbeat, drumming steadily in his chest. He thought he had been tired but he was wide awake, his senses enlivened by the scent, and he turned over onto his other side, trying to settle himself once more. The aroma was even stronger on this side of the pillow, however, and he found himself letting out an audible huff of frustration.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, his voice quiet in the darkness.

Enjolras sat up, kicking aside the covers, and padded across the floorboards over to the other bed. He put his hands out, feeling for Grantaire, and finding his arm, he tugged, pulling him up.

“What is it?” Grantaire asked, setting his feet on the floor, though he seemed to catch on as Enjolras led him across the room back to his own bed. “Oh, I see,” he whispered playfully, waiting for Enjolras to get in before climbing into bed with him.

Grantaire immediately pulled him into a kiss, blindly kissing his nose first before finding his lips as he clambered on top of him. Enjolras sighed against his mouth, his hips pressing up against the weight of Grantaire's body. He hadn't even known what he wanted when he had retrieved Grantaire from his bed, only that he needed Grantaire beside him again like the night before. But this was more than acceptable, and he eagerly kissed him back, clinging to his nightshirt as he rubbed against him.

Grantaire tasted clean, like the toothpaste he had used before bed, cool with mint. But his face was rough with new stubble, the sensation seeming to numb Enjolras's lips as their kissing grew more impassioned. He pulled back, gasping for breath, and was about to mention it, but Grantaire didn't waver. He parted from Enjolras's lips and worked his way down his neck, softly kissing his throat.

Enjolras fell still, resigning to Grantaire's attentions. Now that Grantaire was re-energized, it was time for him to explore on his own. He reached down, fumbling with the hem of Enjolras's shirt, and pushed it up, exposing his chest. Enjolras sat up enough to pull the rest up over his head, and lay back down shirtless so that Grantaire could continue. Starting at his collarbone, Grantaire planted a meandering trail of kisses down his chest.

Enjolras was nervous, his sensitive skin twitching beneath Grantaire's lips as he reached his belly. But was there really any reason to be shy, he wondered, now that Grantaire had already seen him at his most vulnerable? He had seen him injured, he had seen him cry, he had seen him naked. Was this intimacy any more intimidating than the rest? Enjolras willed himself to breathe, to exhale and relax, and let Grantaire have a turn in control.

He felt Grantaire's fingers at the waistband of his pajama pants and he shivered, fully aware how aroused he was with Grantaire nestled down between his legs. “Is this alright?” Grantaire asked, realizing how quiet Enjolras had become.

“Y-yes,” Enjolras said breathlessly, lifting his hips to allow Grantaire to slide down his pajama pants, and his underwear along with them. Grantaire got rid of the clothes completely, pulling them off his feet and tossing them aside. Enjolras was left naked, and it was impossible not to notice the inequality, when Grantaire still had all his clothes on. Enjolras's cheeks went bright red, but in the dark there was no way of Grantaire seeing.

“Are you nervous?” Grantaire asked.

“No,” Enjolras replied quickly, sitting up.

Grantaire seemed to sense he wasn't being truthful. “You weren't nervous when it was me, instead of you,” he reminded him.

“Weren't _you_ , though?” Enjolras asked, tensing and sucking in his breath as he felt Grantaire's hand trail idly down his inner thigh.

“....A little,” Grantaire admitted, the hint of a guilty smile apparent in his voice. “Lay back now, it's alright. Let me have a try.”

Enjolras lay back against the pillow obediently, closing his eyes in an effort to calm himself. He felt Grantaire's hands roaming his thighs, though his touch was gentle and mindful of the bruises. He was so focused on where Grantaire's fingers were that he didn't expect the touch at the tip of his cock, soft and wet. He gasped, and lifted his head to look. It was difficult to see in the darkness but there was no doubt that Grantaire had decided to use his mouth for this round of exploration. Enjolras dropped his head back down on the pillow, his outstretched fingers grasping the sheets. “Unnnmmm…” was all Enjolras could manage, before letting out a sigh.

“Hmm?” Grantaire answered back, a soft hum of amusement, yet with his lips around Enjolras's cock the sound created another new sensation. Enjolras wrapped his legs around Grantaire in response, his feet perched on Grantaire's back. It was clear Grantaire had no idea what sort of effect he was having on Enjolras, not having experienced the same for himself yet.

Enjolras arched against the mattress, feeling Grantaire's mouth move further and further down his shaft, enclosing him in the warmth within. He kept himself from thrusting into him, afraid he might hurt Grantaire, so he lay shuddering, hardly able to process the stimulation down below. He could feel Grantaire's tongue on his cock, pressing against the sensitive spot beneath the head, and he let out a loud moan, unable to help himself.

Suddenly the attentions stopped, and Grantaire was grabbing one of Enjolras's pillows and throwing it at him. “Shhhh!” he laughed. “What if Bahorel hears and finds out? Can't imagine he'd be very happy after the fuss you made.”

“I'll… I'll be quiet,” Enjolras said hastily, pushing the pillow out of the way and reaching for Grantaire's face. “Keep going.”

Grantaire chuckled under his breath but obliged, opening his mouth again as Enjolras guided his head back down. Enjolras sighed with short-lived relief, for as soon as Grantaire was on him, the need began to build again. He knotted his fingers into Grantaire's hair, allowing his hips to gently follow the movement of his mouth, but when he felt another sound about to escape his throat, his hand flew up to cover his mouth. He kept it there, stifling each moan and whimper he couldn't keep down.

Grantaire kept his hands busy, one at the base of Enjolras's cock to hold him steady and the other laid on his belly, stroking it slowly with his fingertips as an afterthought. It tickled Enjolras, not used to being touched in such a way, and it only made him more desperate, wiggling his hips beneath Grantaire in an attempt to alleviate the sensations building inside him.

“Grantaire…” he pleaded between breaths, lifting his hand off his mouth to speak. “Grantaire, I… I'm...” He paused to ride another wave of pleasure, and felt Grantaire's hair brushing up against his inner thighs as he arched and curled his toes.

“Mhmm?” Grantaire answered back, teasing him again with the vibrations of his mouth.

“Ahhh,” Enjolras replied, quickly covering his mouth and gripping Grantaire's hair tighter. With renewed desperation, he couldn't help but push deeper into his mouth, and Grantaire adapted to move with him, keeping up with his rhythm. Every thrust of Enjolras's hips brought him closer and closer still. “Grantaire…” he managed to sigh through his fingers. He could hardly believe it; this boy, who he had been fighting with only a day ago, was now between his legs making him feel things he never thought possible.

And unbidden, a familiar thought came back to mind. For a moment, he was that Greek youth again, who had laid himself out for the gods, but now he found he was offering himself to the wild-haired satyr instead. He could feel his fluffy head buried between his legs, a world of earthly pleasures and possibility opening up to them if he only chose to stay… But suddenly the thought dissipated like a dream, and he came gasping back to the present, unable to hold back any longer. He rolled his hips, stifling a cry with his hand as he climaxed, spending himself at last between Grantaire's lips.

When the last wave of orgasm left him he quickly let go of Grantaire's hair, releasing him with near embarrassment as he took his feet off his back. Grantaire carefully pulled away from his sensitive cock, and sat up panting. “S-sorry,” Enjolras started, out of breath himself.

“Don't apologize,” Grantaire said, smiling at him through the dark. “Hold on. I need some water.”

He slipped off the bed to head into the bathroom, leaving Enjolras to recover, his chest heaving and his naked limbs sprawled on the sheets. _What have we done?_ he thought dazedly, not in fear but in wonder. Was he embracing his rebellion a little too eagerly? Only a week ago he had been incensed by the same crime. _Neither of us are sneaking out of our room after curfew,_ he argued, assuring himself this was different. _And we didn't wake anyone._ Still, there had to be some unspoken rule that fraternization with one’s own roommate wasn't proper behavior for a boy of Corinthe.

Grantaire returned, leaning down over the bed to carefully hand Enjolras the cup of water. “Here,” he said softly.

Enjolras took a long grateful sip from it, his throat dry from all his gasping breaths. “Thank you,” he said, handing it back to him. “...Not just for the water,” he added shyly, finding his shirt and slipping it back on over his head.

Grantaire laughed as he set the cup down on the nightstand. “My pleasure. And yours,” he teased. “Now, am I to assume you want me to sleep here again tonight?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said at once, making room for him. “That's why I brought you over here in the first place. I didn't know you were going to go and do _that_.”

“Surprise,” Grantaire whispered as he climbed back into bed with him. He put his arms around Enjolras and pulled him close, spooning up behind him.

“Hey,” Enjolras protested, though he was too worn out to struggle. “Where's the rest of my clothes?”

“Somewhere down there, who knows,” Grantaire said, his voice muffled as he nuzzled into Enjolras's hair.

“Mmph,” Enjolras grunted, resigning to being cuddled without his pants. He was warm enough at least, with Grantaire surrounding him, and the pajamas he wore were soft against his own bare legs. He entwined them with Grantaire's legs and let out a long, contented breath. It was comforting, feeling the rise and fall of Grantaire's chest against his back. “I won't forget today,” Enjolras said quietly.

“Are… are you going somewhere?” Grantaire asked, confused. “Sounds like you're saying goodbye.”

“No, I just mean… You carry these things with you forever. No matter where you go. Your first kiss, your first....”

“Sexual encounter,” Grantaire offered smugly, holding him tighter.

“Yes, that,” Enjolras said, his cheeks flushing. “And I'd be more worried about _you_ going somewhere. You're the one who always talked of leaving.”

“How could I now? I've got something here that I never had at home. I don't want to lose that.”

Enjolras felt his heart respond to Grantaire's words, a warm glow centering in his chest. But the feeling was bittersweet. “I don't either,” he agreed, remembering that his own fate with the school was uncertain. He would have to wait all weekend before anything could be resolved. Closing his eyes, he pushed the thought from his mind.

Throughout his time at Corinthe, he had always focused on what came next. The next day, the next week, the next year, and the future beyond. Tonight he wouldn't worry about any of it. He simply wanted to concentrate on this moment, with Grantaire holding him close, his soft breaths against the back of his neck. No matter what happened next, he wanted to savor what he had now, in the present.


	7. A Bond of Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The map](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5068a53f5e05ada1aa77cfcbdc43cb08/tumblr_o2pwzl203L1sy5phfo1_1280.jpg) that you don't need at all for this chapter.

Enjolras awoke the next morning to the soft touch of Grantaire's hand on his thigh. Grantaire was half awake, stroking his leg idly, and Enjolras stretched pleasantly before he gave a start, realizing he was naked below the waist. His cheeks grew pink and he stirred in Grantaire's arms, turning over to have a look at him. Grantaire's eyes opened and he gave him a hazy smile, sighing with contentment. Enjolras reached out and gently touched his cheek, running his thumb along his stubbled jawline and over his lips. Those lips he had kissed, and had kissed him back, and had done so much more last night...

“No regrets?” Grantaire asked softly.

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer, but then on second thought, he revised his reply. “Last night, no. Last week... yes,” he said guiltily.

“Ah,” Grantaire said. “Can't do anything about that. But if you had taken a different course, I might not have ended up here in bed beside you."

Enjolras nodded slowly. “No point in looking back. We should just focus on what's happening right now.”

“And what's happening right now?” Grantaire asked indulgently, his hand brushing across Enjolras's bare bottom.

“Hey,” Enjolras grunted, grabbing his wrist. “We're-” He stopped himself, glancing at the clock. “We're going to be late for the bus, that's what's happening,” he announced. “Get up!” He pushed Grantaire from the bed, covering himself with the bedsheet while he searched for his underwear.

When they had hurriedly dressed and groomed themselves, they raced out of the dorms to the buses waiting to take the students to town. “I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it,” Combeferre said as Enjolras and Grantaire boarded the bus. “Late night?”

Enjolras tried not to blush as Grantaire smirked beside him. “Something like that,” he mumbled, taking the empty seat at the front of the bus with Grantaire.

They watched the countryside roll by as the bus drove to town, the fields giving way to forest. Enjolras cracked open the window to enjoy the scents of the trees when they passed through the woods. The breeze slipped in to ruffle his hair, shining golden in the sunlight. He saw a flock of deer leaping through the pines, scattering at the sound of the buses puttering down the forest road. “Look,” he said, nudging Grantaire to point them out.

Grantaire glanced out the window, then back at him, nodding. “Pretty,” he agreed, though it seemed from the way he was looking at Enjolras he might have been talking about him instead. Enjolras bit his lip and turned back to the window.

When they hopped off the bus in the town square, Courfeyrac tapped on Enjolras's shoulder. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

“I need to get something to eat, and so does Grantaire,” Enjolras admitted. Grantaire smiled, taking a step closer at his inclusion. “That's the plan.”

“Ah,” Courfeyrac nodded. He and the rest of their friends had already eaten at the cafeteria, having managed to wake up on time.

“We'll meet up later,” Enjolras promised.

“Hey, it's fine,” Courfeyrac said dismissively. “Today, tomorrow, whenever you're ready. Take your time.” He patted his shoulder, casually leaning in to whisper, “He needed a friend. I'm glad you're getting along with him now.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quickly in embarrassment, hoping Grantaire hadn't overheard. “Me too.”

Courfeyrac smiled broadly as he pulled back. “Combeferre,” he announced sharply. “We've got some shopping to do.”

“Lead the way,” Combeferre laughed as they headed out, the rest of Enjolras's friends following along, although Bahorel broke off to wander away by himself.

Enjolras directed Grantaire to a quiet cafe with outdoor seating on the second story patio. They sat there at a small table in the late morning sunlight, Enjolras trying to stay comfortable with his tender bruises on the wrought-iron chair, though he enjoyed the privacy of the empty balcony. He ordered raspberry crepes; Grantaire, ham and eggs; and a basket of croissants and butter was set between them. “You don't mind spending time with me, instead of going off with your friends?” Grantaire asked, sipping his juice.

“They can be _your_ friends too,” Enjolras pointed out. “They don't have to be just mine.” He took a bite of his crepe, but Grantaire was waiting for an answer. Enjolras swallowed and shook his head. “No, I don't mind. I spent almost two weeks pushing you away from me. I want to make up for that.”

“I'm not holding you to anything, you know. You don't have to-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted, putting his hand over Grantaire's hand, resting on the table. “I want to,” he repeated. “And not because I feel obligated, but because I want to spend time with you anyway, now that…” He trailed off, licking raspberry syrup off his bottom lip. “Now that we've grown closer.”

“Heh, yeah,” Grantaire said, slowly turning his hand over and toying with Enjolras’s fingers. “Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I'm not going to wake up one day and find out this is all because Valjean asked you to be nice to me to get the ABC Society back, right?” Grantaire asked. Then he suddenly frowned, as if he realized it was a possibility after the words left his mouth.

“No!” Enjolras said, eyes widening. He gripped Grantaire's hand. “I may do what I'm told when I need to but I don't let anyone tell me how to feel.”

“...I know, I was just joking,” Grantaire said quietly, though he looked genuinely relieved to hear it.

Enjolras sighed and sat back, gently releasing his hand. “But we can't let anyone know about this, Grantaire. If the administration found out we were using the dorm room like a hotel room they'd separate us. I can't imagine that Valjean would consider this an appropriate method when he asked me to be be a good roommate to you.”

“It certainly suits my tastes,” Grantaire said, raising his glass to him in salute. “I should know, I certainly tasted a few things last n-”

“ _Grantaire,_ ” Enjolras said sharply. “Please, we’re in public.”

Grantaire glanced around the patio garden. They were alone. He grinned and shrugged.

Enjolras gave a reluctant smile back, before digging back into his crepes.

“Can I just ask one thing?” Grantaire said, watching him.

“Hm?” Enjolras inquired with his mouth full.

“What we did last night, you want to continue all that, right?”

Enjolras swallowed and nodded. “I do,” he said shyly. “And you?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said with a soft smile, seeming far away as if he were imagining the night before all over again.

When they had finished their meal and stood out at the front of the cafe again, Grantaire turned to him. “I would hate for you to think me rude for saying so, but would you mind if I went shopping alone for an hour?” he asked. “Not too long, I'd just like to grab a few things,” he added dismissively.

“Uh, sure,” Enjolras said, a little confused.

“We can meet right after. How about at that statue you like?”

“Lamarque,” Enjolras amended with a smile.

“Sure. One hour.”

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding. Grantaire gave him a wink and left him there, turning the next corner down a row of shops. Enjolras turned on his heel, wondering what to do in the meantime, and decided to do some window shopping on his own. He wandered slowly down the row, peeking into the cheese shop with its grand yellow and white wheels, the bakery with the sugared towers of iced cakes and confections alongside the fresh golden loaves and baguettes, and the charcuterie with baskets of marbled meat and sausages of all types. The aromas were amazing, yet he had just eaten and found himself not wanting to look at food anymore. That, and the sausages made his cheeks heat up when their shape conjured up a few memories from the night before.

Enjolras shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, moving on down the row. He had to step back though, as two boys ran giggling into a toy shop he was passing by. “Hey, you two get back here now!” cried another boy running after them. He stopped short as he crossed Enjolras's path, tipping his cap to him.

“Kids these days,” the boy sighed knowingly, shaking his head, though he couldn't possibly have been that much older than the other two.

Enjolras grinned, laughing, watching him disappear into the shop after them. Through the window he could see them gasping over the trinkets inside, and on a whim, Enjolras decided to enter and browse the shop himself. He wandered through the doorway and saw a plethora of handmade toys. There were painted wooden trains and rocking horses, delicate porcelain dolls on high shelves, intricately sculpted chess sets made from marble. Enjolras stuck out his finger and spun a shiny red pinwheel, one of many in a glass jar on the counter, and smiled.

The boys who had entered before him were marveling over the shelves containing fluffy plush animals with embroidered noses and paws. The eldest boy, who had seemed to think himself too old for toys, tentatively picked up an elephant before squeezing it happily in a hug. Enjolras couldn't help but laugh, and drew closer to look at the selection himself. One animal on the shelf in particular looked familiar, a little red fox, and Enjolras remembered Montparnasse holding this stuffed animal when he saw him in Bahorel's room a few nights ago.

Had Bahorel bought it for him last weekend? _And is that what you do when you like someone?_ he wondered. _Buy them a present?_ Grantaire had bought him a sketchbook, had it been more than a simple offering? At the time, Enjolras hadn't analyzed why Grantaire had decided to buy him a gift, but now he realized Grantaire may have been bringing him a token of love, his own form of flowers or chocolate. Should he do the same to show his affection? After all, were they now, perhaps, boyfriends?

He wasn't sure if they could be something without saying so out loud, but at the same time no one had to outright declare that they were friends to become friends. Perhaps the same was true with relationships, he thought as he ran his hand over the plush fur of a stuffed dog. The animals were nice, but he didn't think that buying one for Grantaire felt like a meaningful gesture. He needed something more personal, if he was going to buy him a gift.

Enjolras walked a lap around the store, glancing around for anything else that might feel right. He wasn't having much luck, as many of the toys were for younger children. He did spot a collection of kits for building ships and airplanes meant for older kids, but they seemed more suited to someone like Combeferre, who had the patience for the tiniest of details. After several minutes of browsing, Enjolras decided that the toy store might not be the best place to find a gift. He made his way to the front of the store and was on his way out, but he turned as something else caught his eye, among the chess and checkers sets. Now that, he thought as he saw the wooden box, _did_ remind him of Grantaire.

As he was leaving the shop with the present tucked safely inside a shopping bag, he nearly ran into a teenage girl sticking her head through the doorway. “Gavroche?” she called, a bit annoyed. “Are you in here?”

“Over here!” the eldest little boy called, holding up the stuffed elephant. “Buy this for me?”

The girl sighed, shaking her head. “Mum and dad sent me to come find you guys.”

Enjolras quietly slipped around the girl, and as he exited, he saw Monsieur and Madame Thenardier waiting across the town square with another bored girl by their side. _Mum and dad…_ he thought, suddenly realizing that the children all belonged to the Thenardiers. If he had been paying closer attention, he might have realized the resemblance between the little boys and their parents.

“Eponine!” Madame Thenardier called impatiently.

“I found them, Mum,” she called back with exasperation.

Enjolras tried to cross the town square without drawing the notice of his teachers, but to his embarrassment, Monsieur Thenardier recognized him as he tried to sneak by. “Well if it isn't Enjolras out and about,” he said.

“Hello, Monsieur. Madame,” he said, stopping to politely nod to them.

“Feeling better?” Thenardier said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Hm? Oh. Oh, yes,” he said quickly, remembering he had skipped both of their classes yesterday.

“You look quite well,” Madame Thenardier commented accusingly.

“Thanks to Sister Simplice,” he said with a nervous smile, backing away. “I'm much better.”

“Make sure you make up all that work, now,” Thenardier warned. “I'll not have you skipping out again.”

“No, sir,” Enjolras agreed, shaking his head.

“Where did you get that?” Madame Thenardier hissed.

Enjolras raised his brows, taken aback, but Madame Thenardier wasn't addressing him. Eponine had returned with the three boys reluctantly in tow, Gavroche carrying the elephant in his arms. “Did you pay for that?” Madame Thenardier demanded.

“’Course not!” Gavroche piped up. “I told the shopkeep we was practically _orphans_ and he gave it to us.”

“Good! I don't want you wasting our money on junk like that!”

Thankfully, Enjolras was able to slip away, leaving the Thenardiers and their five children behind. He still had time left before the hour was up, so he made his way to the shops across the square and disappeared into the bookstore. No matter if he had gone last time, he loved being surrounded by the sight and smell of books, and took a deep grateful breath as he entered. Even though he walked in without an idea of what to look for, he found himself suddenly curious if a certain book was still there.

He denied the thought at first, casually glancing through the leather-bound writing journals, but he found himself gravitating closer, making his way to the history aisle and picking up random books to flip through. _Maps of the Ancient World. A Brief History of Inventions. Lessons We Learned from the Revolution._ Finally he edged his way to the Classical Studies shelves, adjacent to the history books. There, still sitting unclaimed on the shelf was the old book, _Homoeroticism in Ancient Greece._ He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to see it again, considering how deeply embarrassed he had been when he had looked at it the first time. Yet it had certainly affected his mind, manifesting in his dreams and fantasies, and he couldn't help being drawn to it again.

Enjolras caught the spine by his finger and pulled it carefully out, opening it and flipping through it slowly. He paused when he found the satyr that seemed so much like Grantaire, wild curls and all. The resemblance was uncanny, considering how old the depiction was, as if Grantaire’s essence had been captured in a Greek vase long before he had come into this world. It would certainly explain his love for art and painting, if so.

He turned the page to a rather intimate depiction of Achilles and Patroclus, and turned slightly pink. Last year when he had read _The Iliad_ , it had been strongly hinted that the two of them were more than simply brothers in arms. Here that was certainly true, as they knelt together on the floor one behind the other, with Achilles reaching around for Patroclus’s-

“Enjolras!” came a cheery voice.

Enjolras snapped the book shut and held it behind his back as he spun around to see Feuilly and Bossuet walking up to him. “H-hey there,” he said, awkwardly leaning against the bookshelf and attempting to blindly slip the book back into place. “What have, uh…” Enjolras glanced down and saw the book in Bossuet’s arms. “You got there?” he finished.

Bossuet held it up to show him. It seemed to be a book of tips from famous football players. “Preparing for the game,” he explained. “Thought it couldn't hurt to study up.”

“Good idea,” Enjolras said, still struggling to find a place for the book to fit in a shelf behind his back.

“You're coming to watch, right?” Feuilly asked.

“Wouldn't miss it!” Enjolras said hastily, smiling. “I know you guys will crush the National Academy.”

“Sure will,” Bossuet grinned. “Well, we’ll catch you later, Enj. We've got to find Bahorel and tell him about this barricade defense technique we've found,” he said, pointing to the book. “Bye!”

“Seeya, Enj,” Feuilly added.

“Bye!” Enjolras said, watching them go. When it was safe, he let out a sigh of relief and brought the book out from behind his back, never having managed to shove it back in place on the shelf. He studied the cover for a moment, contemplating, then decided it would be best to have a better look at this forbidden book in private. Sure, taking the book home would be damning evidence if it was ever found, but considering the contents had haunted his dreams, he was too intrigued now to let it go.

He peeked around the aisle, making sure that Bossuet and Feuilly completed their purchase at the counter and left the store, before he quickly made his way to the register too, setting the book on the counter unceremoniously. “Can you wrap this up?” he asked, unable to look the clerk in the eye.

He left the store with the book encased in brown paper, tucked under his arm. It was close to the end of the hour, so Enjolras turned and headed for the park, the paving stones changing to a gravel path beneath his feet as he left the town square. The grass had turned a vivid green from Thursday's rains, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the flowerbeds. As Enjolras came around the bend in the path, he saw that Grantaire was already waiting at the statue of Lamarque, perched on the the base as he himself had been last weekend. He grinned and waved as Enjolras approached.

“I bought you something,” Enjolras announced, casually walking up to him.

“Oh!” Grantaire gasped, grinning. “Let me see!” He held out his hands for the wrapped book.

“No, no. This isn't-” Enjolras shook his head, even as Grantaire snatched it from his hands. Something about this seemed so terribly familiar, a book in brown paper at this same statue.

“Is it a sketchbook?” Grantaire asked, weighing it in his hand. “Although that would be rather silly considering I just bought _you_ one.”

“That's not the present,” Enjolras said, looking up at him.

“Oh,” Grantaire said again, his grin sobering. Instead of handing it back, he continued to inspect it. “Who's this for then?”

“Just me,” Enjolras said simply. “And don't-” But he stopped, closing his mouth tightly and rolling his eyes as Grantaire stuck his fingers under the tape to unwrap it.

“It's just for you,” Grantaire reasoned, excusing his curiosity.

“I was _going_ to show you,” Enjolras said in exasperation. “Just not while we're out-”

Grantaire eyes lit up as he peeked under the paper. “Oh my god, are you sure this isn't for me?” He laughed gleefully, his smile returning.

“It's not, no. Although... I suppose it should have been,” he added, watching Grantaire with a tentative smirk. “Does it make you happy?”

Grantaire looked down at him, lowering the book to his lap. “Yes,” he said. “But show me what you meant to, I didn't mean to derail your presentation.”

“It's alright. It's not even as exciting as that book,” Enjolras said modestly. He handed up the shopping bag from the toy store, before pulling himself up onto the base of the statue to sit beside Grantaire. The stone pressed hard against his bruises, but he did his best to ignore the ache.

Grantaire dug his hands into the shopping bag, rattling the tissue paper, and extracted the contents within. “Dominoes?” Grantaire asked softly as he read the box, a photo depicting the neatly carved objects that lay within.

“Because… because of what you said,” Enjolras said hastily, watching his face as Grantaire stared at the box in his hands. “You were setting out your trail of metaphorical dominoes to decide your fate, to see where they'd fall. I… want them to fall here,” he said, tentatively reaching out to touch Grantaire’s forearm. “With me. I want you to stay. You can belong here.”

A smile twitched at Grantaire's lips, but fell away, and he swallowed hard. “You're spoiling me,” he said, his throat cracking. “You, and your mother with her gifts, too…”

“I wanted to get something that was meant for you, just you. From me. ...Do you not like it?”

Grantaire turned to look at him, his eyes moist. “No, I do,” he said reassuringly. “Don't mind my emotions.” He hitched a smile back into place. “Let's give them a try. Tonight? With these and my pack of cards we could have a game night.”

“Admittedly I don't know how to play dominoes,” Enjolras said sheepishly.

“I'm sure there are instructions inside.”

“I'm sorry it's not as exciting as the book.” Enjolras hung his head, feeling stupid. “Maybe I should-”

“Hey.” Grantaire caught his chin, tilting his face up. “I’m very happy. What you just said, about wanting me to stay with you… just… thank you.”

Their eyes met, and Enjolras could see in his gaze, could feel in the tips of Grantaire's fingers on his cheek, how badly Grantaire wanted to kiss him. But he didn't, and instead they spent several breaths with eyes locked, Enjolras simply imagining the kiss they would have shared were they not out in the open.

Grantaire's eyes darted to the side as he saw a small group of younger students running across the park lawn. He let his hand fall, and looked back down at the domino box. “This means so much more than you think it does.”

“I'm glad,” Enjolras said in a small voice.

“We'll play tonight,” Grantaire affirmed, lifting up the flap of his shoulder bag to tuck the gift inside, next to another shopping bag. “Do you want to go somewhere we can be a little more alone?” he asked, turning back to Enjolras. “Maybe have a look at this?” he added with a devilish smile, picking up the book in his lap.

Enjolras thought about it, and slowly nodded in agreement, giving him a conspiratorial grin in return.

They hopped down off the statue and headed deeper into the park, where the trees converged over the walkway like a tunnel. Not far along, they came upon a small garden off the main path, hidden away by a hedge. They wandered in through a gap in the leaves and sat down on a lone wooden bench among the flowers. Grantaire pulled the rest of the brown paper off of the forbidden book and opened it, setting it between them so they could look through it together.

The book was full of authentic photographs of surviving Greek pottery and sculpture, along with the author’s own pencil and watercolor illustrations, while the text delved into Ancient Greek culture and lifestyle. Grantaire turned the pages slowly, pausing at each picture with silent smirks, while Enjolras sat beside him, feeling hot under the collar. They looked at picture of ephebes and their mentors, soldiers who dressed each other's wounds, gods naked in all their glory. The cult of Dionysus. The festival of the phallus.

As they bent over the book, Enjolras felt himself drawing closer to Grantaire, just as he had during their private art lesson. This time there was no confusion as to why. Grantaire, taking notice, turned and bumped his nose affectionately against Enjolras’s cheek.

“I...I want to show you something,” Enjolras admitted, commandeering the book. He flipped through the pages impatiently, trying to find it. “No...no…” he mumbled to himself. He turned another page and there it was. Enjolras pointed resolutely. “It's you,” he said, glancing sidelong at Grantaire.

The corners of Grantaire's mouth slowly turned upward, a lazy smile that seemed almost proud. “It is me,” he agreed, looking down at the young dark-haired satyr. “That's my true form, you know,” he joked. “I'm a lot hairier when I'm not pretending to be human. And I never have to wear pants,” he said tapping his fingertip next to the satyr’s arousal.

Enjolras blushed but kept his eyes on Grantaire. “Just as devious in either form,” he whispered, his eyes lingering on Grantaire’s lips as he once again remembered where that mouth had been last night.

“Hey, I wasn't the one making the first moves,” Grantaire teased. “You're not so innocent yourself.”

Enjolras bit his lip to keep from speaking, but he couldn't help it. “...I had dreams about this,” he said, pointing to the satyr again. “I saw it last week, and I just kept thinking about it.”

Grantaire leaned back to get a better look at Enjolras, his head cocked with intrigue. “What, like a fantasy?”

Enjolras's gaze drifted up to the leafy branches overhead, avoiding an admission of guilt. “Well…”

Grantaire laughed. “I could see what we've got in the costume closet at the theater. There might be something we could-”

Enjolras quickly shook his head. “No, no!”

“I mean, maybe if A Midsummer Night’s Dream was done recently-” Grantaire continued teasingly.

“No!” Enjolras insisted, snapping the book shut.

“Any Greek comedies in the past few years?” Grantaire grinned.

Enjolras glared indignantly, waiting for him to finish.

“Alright, alright,” Grantaire said soothingly. “But how shall I fulfill your desires?” Grantaire pondered. “Hm… I could be more bold,” he said, suddenly turning towards Enjolras and leaning over him, his face only inches away. “More shameless, like a satyr.”

“You already are,” Enjolras said, staring him down, though his cheeks flushed. “The comparison was apt. Your callous nature. Your interest in wine-”

“I could make all the first moves,” Grantaire interrupted, putting his hands to Enjolras's cheeks. His eyes moved from Enjolras's eyes to his lips, his intention clear as he raised his eyebrows playfully.

“You could,” Enjolras agreed, and realized as the words left his mouth that it _was_ something he desired. It was he who had kissed Grantaire first, who had put his hands on him in the shower, who had sat up to lead Grantaire to his bed. Enjolras was a man of action, and he wanted the same from Grantaire. To not be afraid, to ask for what he wanted, now that they had torn their walls down. He had seen glimpses of it last night, when Grantaire had kissed him under the boat, when he had gone down on him in bed. _More of that,_ Enjolras thought to himself. Strangely, what he had hated most about Grantaire to begin with, his unpredictability, his cockiness, his audacity, that was what he craved, what made his heart race.

Enjolras closed his eyes, waiting for Grantaire to invite himself upon him, to close the distance and kiss him. Instead, he felt Grantaire's lips against his ear, his breath making him shiver. “Do you want to push the beds together tonight?” he whispered.

Enjolras's eyes flew open, turning his head to meet Grantaire's cool gaze and mischievous smile. He opened his mouth to answer but then closed it. Was Grantaire suggesting what Enjolras thought he was, so soon? That had certainly been unpredictable.

Grantaire smile faltered. “Only if you want to,” he said softly.

Enjolras was second guessing himself, unsure if they were on the same page. But he didn't like to see Grantaire’s confidence fading so quickly, when he had just decided that was what he liked best. “If you want more space for us to sleep, that might be alright,” Enjolras said neutrally. He didn’t let on that the suggestion might have meant more. “As long as we’re quiet about it.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Yes. Of course. No one will know. We'd move them back in the morning.”

It was silent for a moment, but Enjolras didn't want to leave it there, in a moment of insecurity. “Grantaire.”

“Hm?”

“I was waiting for you to kiss me. Aren’t you going to make a move?”

“Oh!” Grantaire shifted closer to where he had been before, leaning in towards him again. “Sorry,” he laughed apologetically, raising his hands to Enjolras’s face, cradling his cheeks.

Enjolras tilted his head to the side, leaning into the touch. “It’s alright. Carry on.” He closed his eyes again, waiting for it. He could feel Grantaire’s breath upon his lips he was so near. But suddenly, just as he felt Grantaire’s nose graze his cheek, Enjolras shot his hand up and clamped it over Grantaire’s mouth, stopping the kiss before it could begin.

“Mmph!?” Grantaire grunted behind Enjolras’s hand, but then he caught on, hearing in the distance what Enjolras already had. It was a voice, growing more and more audible as it came closer to their hiding place.

“...ever since then, you know? I mean, I admit, I was jealous. I... I always have been. He has the perfect family, more than enough money. And here I am on… on _scholarship._ Don’t tell anyone that, please, I’ve never told anyone… And then they threatened to take it away from me. When I... well when the incident with Enjolras back in freshman year happened. I had to be on my best behavior, Valjean said, or I’d lose my funding. I was on probation or I’d be sent home. It was humiliating.”

Enjolras slowly dropped his hand from Grantaire’s mouth, listening in as he heard Montparnasse slowly walking down the path on the other side of the hedge.

“Your best behavior?” came a second voice, Bahorel. “That I’d like to see.” Montparnasse sighed, mumbling something. Bahorel laughed. “Oh, come now, it’s not that hard. You’ll feel better once you do.”

“But I didn’t _mean_ for anything to happen,” Montparnasse whined. “Not anything _that_ bad.”

“I know, but what’s done is done. Make amends with Enjolras and…” Suddenly, Enjolras caught sight of Bahorel and Montparnasse walking past the small gap in the hedge where he and Grantaire had slipped into their hideaway. Montparnasse wasn’t looking, but Bahorel spotted them and caught Enjolras’s eye. His mouth twitched into a quick smile, before Bahorel continued on down the path with Montparnasse as if he hadn’t seen. “And you’ll set things right again. I spoke to him yesterday, he’s doing fine. In fact... he was the one who told me not to give up on you.”

“He did? Enjolras?”

“Yes. He bears you no ill will. It's Javert's blood he wants, in all of this…”

Their voices and footsteps faded away as they rounded a corner and disappeared into the trees. Enjolras let out a breath, and lay his head on Grantaire's shoulder.

“What is it?” Grantaire asked, gently putting his arm around him.

“Its nothing,” Enjolras answered, trying hard to push away thoughts of Javert. “I didn't know that about Montparnasse. Scholarship. Probation,” he added to distract himself. It somehow made him feel better to hear it, that he wasn't the only one who Valjean had given such a punishment. It also helped explain Montparnasse’s lingering resentment towards Enjolras, with something as important as money for school being held over his head. Enjolras had blamed his troubles on someone else at first, too.

“Doesn't seem like Valjean is keeping tabs on his behavior anymore,” Grantaire commented.

“Montparnasse is always sweet around the teachers, making himself look picture perfect. He'll calculate how much he can get away with when they aren't looking.”

“Ah. Well, that's how it's done if you’re a troublemaker, isn't it?” Grantaire said sardonically. “Students are the same no matter what school you go to.”

“You're certainly no angel,” Enjolras said, lifting his head with a smirk. “I hope you weren't buying more wine when you were out shopping alone.”

“No, no. Other things,” Grantaire assured him. “And there's still wine under my bed. We never finished it off.”

“We should get rid of it,” Enjolras scolded.

“It helped a little, didn't it?” Grantaire asked imploringly.

Enjolras paused, considering that emotional night, and nodded.

“Good,” Grantaire nodded. “We'll drink the rest tonight then.”

Enjolras eyed him, but didn't bother arguing. If the wine was gone by the end of the night, it suited him fine enough.

“Do you think your friend suspected anything?” Grantaire asked.

“Hm?”

“Bahorel. Just now, when he saw us in here together.”

“Oh,” Enjolras chewed his lip. “If he did, I hope he of all people would understand.” A pang of guilt at his hypocrisy tugged on his heart, but hopefully Bahorel had forgiven him for his momentary madness.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“I trust my friends,” Enjolras nodded, an affirmation to himself.

“Do you trust me now?” Grantaire asked, raising a brow. “Last week you said you didn't.”

Enjolras stared at him, trying to remember specifics. Of course he hadn't trusted him at first, but… “When did I say that to you?”

“When you thought the sketchbook I gave you was this,” Grantaire said, holding up the book. “Little did I know you actually wanted it.”

Enjolras blushed, looking down. “Oh. I didn't know that I would want it,” he said under his breath.

Grantaire set the book down in his lap and waited. “Well?”

Enjolras looked back up at him, meeting his eyes. “I do.” He already knew it was the truth. “I’ve shared parts of myself that I've never shared with anyone else. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have. Besides, Thursday night… that meant everything to me,” he said, thinking back to Grantaire holding him as he wept.

Grantaire leaned in and kissed his forehead. “I'm very glad to hear that,” he said, his hand at the back of Enjolras's neck.

Enjolras tilted his chin up, attempting to catch him in a kiss, but Grantaire teasingly pulled away with a smile. Enjolras huffed in frustration.

“ _I'm_ supposed to be the one kissing _you,_ remember?” Grantaire whispered jokingly, and pulled him into the kiss he had been waiting for. Enjolras conceded with a sigh, melting against him, and draped his arms around Grantaire's shoulders.

They stayed kissing in their hidden grove in the park for some time, their curious hands roaming unhindered over each other, until they heard footsteps alerting them to other passerby on the path. They quickly separated, feigning disinterest in case someone were to spot them through the hedge. Enjolras stood up, brushing off his sweater and smoothing down his hair with dignity. Grantaire looked a mess, but it wasn't exactly uncharacteristic of him, with his curls stuck up in all directions as usual.

“Your lips are red,” Grantaire pointed out.

“Then you should shave,” Enjolras said, reaching up to feel them. His lips were tingling from Grantaire's rough stubble, though he smiled to himself behind his hand.

They gathered their belongings, Enjolras doing his best to rewrap the book in the torn paper before tucking it in his bag, not wanting to be too careful. Then they went out to the gravel path and slowly made their way back out of the park. By the time they reached the town square, the other students were gathering to await the buses back to campus.

Enjolras spotted Courfeyrac and Combeferre standing with Joly and Marius. “Have any luck shopping?” he asked as he approached.

“Oh yes, look!” Combeferre said, holding up a dirty, disintegrating book that had _A Cure for What Ails You_ imprinted on the cover. “A medical book so old and inaccurate the bookstore wouldn't even take it. Found it at the antique store. It's wonderful, it's from the 1800s.”

“They even have a cure for masturbation in there,” Courfeyrac snickered. “We'll see if it works on Marius,” he added, ribbing him.

“Wait, what!?” Marius sputtered. “I _don't,_ I mean-”

“Find anything interesting?” Joly asked, pointing to Enjolras's bag, the bulk of a book clearly visible inside.

“Oh you know. Just…research,” he said dismissively. “For art class. Nothing exciting.” He quickly turned away as the buses rolled up the lane, hearing Grantaire laughing behind him.

When they had boarded and the buses began their return journey through the countryside, Enjolras felt a tug on his hair. He turned and saw Bahorel leaning over the seats.

“Thanks. For encouraging me to talk it out with him,” he said in a low voice. “Everything's okay. And I think things will work out between the two of you as well,” he added, patting Enjolras on the shoulder.

“The two of us?” Enjolras asked, looking back at Bahorel. _Had_ he suspected what was happening with Grantaire in the garden?

“Yeah. You and Parnasse, of course,” Bahorel whispered, and he leaned back into his seat, a puzzled Bossuet beside him.

“As I was saying,” Bossuet said, continuing their prior conversation and placing the football book in Bahorel's lap to show him a diagram. “The barricade technique involves the defense lining up like so…”

Enjolras turned to look at Grantaire beside him, who shrugged and smiled. “I think things will work out too,” Grantaire said softly, slipping his arm around Enjolras's shoulders. To an outsider it seemed casual, a friend lazily draping his arm over another.

“I hope so,” he agreed, reaching up to gently grasp Grantaire's hand.

When they returned to campus and the students were tromping back into the dorms, Sister Simplice met them at the door. “Movie night, boys,” she said, handing out a few flyers. “Come to the student lounge after dinner! Wear your pajamas, bring your pillows!”

Jehan managed to grab a flyer. It was a night of classic horror, a triple feature of black and white monster movies more campy than frightening. Still, Joly shook his head. “Count me out,” he said with a shudder.

“How about it?” Grantaire asked, nudging Enjolras.

“Sure. But not the whole thing. I still want to play that game of dominoes.”

Grantaire beamed. “I'd like that too.”

When they went up to their room, they tossed their bags on their beds and Grantaire turned to head into the bathroom. Enjolras took out his new acquisition, the Greek book, wondering if he should keep it wrapped and hidden as he found a place for it in his nightstand. As he was doing so, Grantaire's bag, unstable where he had thrown it at the edge of the bed, slumped and fell to the floor, the flap opening and its contents spilling out. Enjolras, startled by the noise, spun around and knelt to pick up the items. _What's this for?_ he wondered, picking up a small candle, and then another, that had rolled out of the shopping bag. He opened it to drop them back in, and noticed what lay at the bottom of the bag. Cologne, and something else. _What is that?_ he thought as he checked the label.

Suddenly, Enjolras blushed with realization and stuffed everything back into Grantaire's bag. Candles, cologne, and lubricating oil. The ingredients for a romantic evening. Was this why Grantaire had asked to go shopping alone? A surprise for later? _Do you want to push the beds together tonight?_

Enjolras hurriedly put Grantaire's bag back on his bed just as the bathroom door opened. “Snooping around?” Grantaire joked.

“Your bag fell,” Enjolras mumbled, turning back to his side of the room.

From then until dinner, Enjolras sat on his bed completing the mathematics assignment Sister Simplice had noted for him, and eyed Grantaire across the room every time he looked up. Grantaire had his nose in _The Iliad_ once more, but Enjolras couldn't stop thinking about his secret purchases. There was the emboldened, unpredictable Grantaire, but was Enjolras ready for… _that?_ Everything had changed so quickly in such a short amount of time it was hard not to feel dizzy thinking about it. At least, Enjolras consoled himself as he turned back to his math book, Grantaire was just as much a clumsy virgin as he was. The wild lascivious satyr was only in his imagination.

Dinner in the Great Hall was cafeteria pizza, big sheets cut into squares instead of triangles, but even so it was a treat, and Courfeyrac begged to take more back to the dorms for movie night. The kitchen had run out by the end of the meal, but to their surprise, Sister Simplice was waiting for them with bags of popcorn in the student lounge when they arrived for movie night, using up the extra kernels leftover from the club fair. When enough students had gathered in their pajamas and barefeet, sprawling on the couches or on the floor with blankets and pillows from their rooms, she switched on the projector and turned out the lights.

The next few hours were filled with gasps and laughter as they watched the old horror movies, rife with vampire bites and graveyards, werewolves and curses. Enjolras sat curled up in his new slippers on a couch between Courfeyrac and Grantaire, sharing popcorn and giggling along with the rest of them. As the evening wore on, however, Grantaire's presence began to make him feel anxious. His thoughts wandered back to what they might be doing later that night, a vague sexual unknown that both thrilled and frightened him. It was hard to dismiss with Grantaire’s warm thigh pressed up against his, while Courfeyrac sat on his other side, oblivious to Enjolras's inner turmoil.

They were halfway into the second film when Enjolras caught himself staring at Grantaire from the corner of his eye, and forced himself to focus back on the screen. _What if we were alone now?_ he asked himself, as the woman in the movie ran terrified from her house towards the foggy woods. _Would he put his arms around me, like couples do at the movies?_ He glanced down and saw Grantaire’s hand resting idle on the couch, and instead imagined it sliding over, slowly, smoothly, over the cushion and up his thigh… Enjolras quickly turned his eyes back to the screen, as the woman's scarf became entangled in the skeletal branches of overhanging trees and she struggled to break free. The violins had begun an irritating pizzicato, growing steadily louder and faster with each second that passed, putting him on edge. _Are you actually paying attention to this, Grantaire?_ he wondered distractedly. _Or are you thinking of me now, too, and what you plan to do with me later toni-_

“Ahh!!” Enjolras gasped, jumping at the sudden surprise appearance of a shrieking bog monster.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire broke into snickers along with the rest of the students, grinning with amusement. “Need me to hold your hand?” Grantaire whispered, offering it to him.

“ _No,_ ” Enjolras hissed, prodding him away with embarrassment. “I was just _surprised,_ that's all.” The monster was only a man running around in a rubber mask, certainly nothing to be scared of. “This movie's kind of lame anyway. Let’s just go upstairs and play that game of dominoes.”

Grantaire paused, considering, then nodded and leaned over to Courfeyrac. “I'm sorry, I'll have to take Enjolras outside. This is entirely too scary for him.”

“Hey, no! Shut it!” Enjolras said, giving Grantaire a shove. “I'm not-”

“Shhhh!” came a sound from down on the floor.

Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac and lowered his voice. “I'm not scared. I'm just tired and this is silly.”

“Sure, sure,” Courfeyrac said, though he winked at Grantaire.

Enjolras sighed with a roll of his eyes and got up off the couch, ushering Grantaire out of the dark student lounge and upstairs to the dorm rooms. “Very funny, very funny,” Enjolras said grumpily as Grantaire laughed his way up the stairs.

Once they reached the fourth floor, Enjolras spotted something on their doorstep at the end of the hallway.

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked as they got closer.

Enjolras knelt down to inspect. It was a small box from the bakery in town, white and pink striped. On top of it was a note, and Enjolras recognized the childish handwriting immediately.

_I'm sorry :( -M_

“Parnasse,” Enjolras said out loud.

“What's in it?” Grantaire asked, standing over him.

Enjolras carefully lifted the lid. Inside was an oversized chocolate cupcake, topped with colorful flowers of icing.

“But is it poison?” Grantaire joked.

“Well, he didn't make it himself,” Enjolras remarked. “I think he might actually be apologizing.”

“Ophelia didn’t use poison anyway,” Grantaire amended in contemplation. “It was Claudius you had to worry about.”

“Well, I'll make sure to watch out for anything Marius gives me,” Enjolras said dryly, picking up the box and heading in.

“So… would you want to share that?” Grantaire asked, following him in.

“I suppose I can’t eat it all myself,” Enjolras said. “Still hungry after all that popcorn?”

“I think you know I can fit quite a lot in my mouth,” Grantaire smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, har har har,” Enjolras smiled despite himself, throwing him an exasperated look. “Be serious.”

“Never,” Grantaire said, grinning. “I am wild.”

Enjolras gave him another shove. “Go get the dominoes.”

“But of course.”

Enjolras watched as Grantaire went to his bag to extract them, but sobered as he remembered the romantic starter kit that was hidden inside there as well. _So when are you planning to mention it?_

Grantaire took out the domino box, leaving the bag and the rest of its contents on the bed. “Shall we sit on the floor?” he asked, giving the box a shake before settling down cross-legged on the floorboards.

Enjolras took a pillow off his bed, setting it on the floor to cushion his thighs as he sat down and put the bakery box between them. “Read me the instructions,” he said, as Grantaire opened up the package of dominoes.

Once they had gotten the gist of it, Grantaire spilled them out on the floor, flipping them upside down so they could draw their hands of dominoes. “Wait, wait,” he said, turning aside and stretching out to reach under his bed. He emerged with the bottle of wine in hand. “Now we can start,” he grinned, laying down on his belly.

“Don't drink too much,” Enjolras warned.

“There's not much in here, especially if we share it.”

“We'll see,” Enjolras said primly, playing the first domino. When he had accepted the wine before, he had been emotional. Tonight, he had no need for it, especially if he needed to be on his guard.

“You're quiet,” Grantaire pointed out as they began to build the domino chain, setting one after the other.

“Oh...” Enjolras said dismissively. “Yes, I know.”

“Have some cake, have some wine,” Grantaire urged. “Have some fun.”

Enjolras's mouth twitched into a smile. “Alright, alright.” He studied his dominoes. “I don't have any that work here,” he commented.

“Then you draw another,” Grantaire reminded him of the instructions, pointing to the rest of the pile. “Something on your mind, Enj?”

Enjolras picked up another domino. “A lot of things are on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

He nodded, but paused for a long time, considering what to say while they continued to place the dominoes.

“I win the round,” Grantaire said quietly, spreading his fingers to show he had used up his hand. “Enj, you did want to play, right?”

“I-I saw what you bought downtown,” Enjolras finally managed to get out, before he lost his courage.

Grantaire looked like he was trying to remember for a second, then blushed and gave a small guilty smile. “Oh yeah.”

“When your bag fell,” Enjolras clarified, his heart beating faster. “You wanted to shop alone. Why keep it a secret? I know what that stuff is for.”

Grantaire quickly shook his head, sitting up. “No, no it's not a secret. I just thought it was too early to talk about things like that. Didn't want to scare you but I thought I'd be prepared just in case, you know. If we want to, we can, when the time comes.”

Enjolras watched him intently, remembering he had promised earlier that day that he trusted Grantaire. “You asked to push the beds together,” he pointed out.

“Well yeah, I mean, we'd have more room to mess around. Just like last night. Doesn't have to be anything more.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said with a sigh of relief, a weight lifting off his chest.

Grantaire scooted closer, putting his hand on Enjolras's. “I'm new to this too, remember? I'm in no hurry. Don't be afraid to talk to me.”

“Same to you,” Enjolras said, slipping his hand out from under Grantaire's and holding it instead. “I haven't quite figured you out yet.”

“That's okay. We can figure each other out together.” Grantaire leaned over and kissed him sweetly, his lips brushing lightly against Enjolras’s. “Feel better?” he whispered.

Enjolras nodded, giving him an embarrassed smile.

“No pressure,” Grantaire said, smiling back. “This school is stressful enough. Now are we going to keep playing?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said resolutely. “Although you’re going to have to back off. I don’t want you looking at what I’ve got in my hand.” He released Grantaire, reaching to draw his next round of dominoes.

“Of course,” Grantaire agreed, returning to his former spot and drawing a new set himself. “My victory will be an honorable one.”

“Oh, you think you’ve already won, do you?” Enjolras asked in challenge.

“I have. The first round, weren’t you paying attention?” Grantaire teased. He took a swig from the bottle of wine and winked. “Are you a betting man, Enjolras?”

“What confidence you have,” Enjolras scoffed. “What would we be playing for?”

“I’m afraid my suggestion is entirely inappropriate,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly. “Do you mind?” he asked as an aside, dipping his fingers into the bakery box.

“Go on,” Enjolras said dismissively. He looked down at his dominoes in contemplation. “And no, I won’t take that bet. You don't need to win something I might give you freely. And… and I don’t think you’d ask me for something I didn’t want to give.”

Grantaire smiled softly. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. And I would rather have what you want to give freely. It’d be a much sweeter treat to enjoy.” He pushed a bite of cake into his mouth, pink icing catching on his lips. “No stakes then.”

“You dignity’s still at stake. Watch out,” Enjolras warned. “I am terribly competitive and I plan to take my revenge for round one.” He set out the first domino with determination. “I aim to win. Now hand me that.” He held out his hand for the bottle of wine. Grantaire grinned, passing it over, and Enjolras brought it to his lips, swallowing a few bittersweet mouthfuls before handing it back.

Despite his renewed vigor, Enjolras managed to lose the next few rounds of the game spectacularly. “It's a luck based game!” he insisted, though somehow he found himself smiling, and leaning over to accept a bite of cupcake from Grantaire's waiting fingers.

“Perhaps cards will suit you better?” Grantaire suggested.

“One more, than cards,” said Enjolras, licking icing off the corner of his lips. “This round determines the winner.”

“Oh, so all my other wins don't count?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Enjolras teased, biting his lip.

They played their last round, drawing the final dominoes from the pile. Setting them down on the floor, they lined them up carefully one by one, end to end, until they only had two left to play, one domino in each of their hands. As they turned them over, neither of them had matching numbers to complete the chain. The round ended in a draw.

“Well. I think that's fitting,” Grantaire said cheerily.

“We could just reshuffle the ones we already used and try again,” Enjolras suggested, not entirely satisfied with a tie.

“Nope,” Grantaire grinned, sweeping aside the dominoes to Enjolras's dismay. “An even match. Besides, you know I won the whole game. The rules say it's top scorer of all rounds and that's me. Cards it is.”

“Fine,” Enjolras huffed. “But you enjoyed it at least, right?” he asked, hoping his purchase was appreciated.

“Immensely,” Grantaire replied with sincerity. “Thank you. I am now the domino king.” He sat up and stole a quick kiss before scooting across the floor to where he had laid out his playing cards to dry last night after the lake. He gathered them up, aligning them into a neat pile, and then shuffled through them, counting to himself.

“Hey, Enj,” he asked after a moment, going through them again. “I think I'm missing a card.”

“Oh,” Enjolras frowned, setting down the wine bottle after taking a sip.

“Well it's just a joker, really. There are supposed to be two, right?”

“Yes. Check the box, they're always at the end of the deck.”

Grantaire picked up the waterlogged paper box, which hadn't fared well in the lake. “Nothing.”

“Well don't worry about it,” Enjolras said, waving his hand dismissively. “Hardly any games use them. And it might be under your bed somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, discarding the other joker back into the box and returning to Enjolras with the rest of the cards. “What shall we play?”

“Hmm. How about a game that _can't_ end in a draw. One that's all about breaking ties,” said Enjolras, smirking. “War.”

“Excellent,” Grantaire smiled back as he shuffled the deck one last time and counted out their cards.

The game lasted for a long time, the two of them throwing their cards out for each other on the floor and swiping them up, their piles growing and shrinking back and forth between them as they fought for control of the deck. They challenged each other to go faster and faster, flipping their cards so quickly they almost missed what was written on them. Laughing, they goaded each other on, only pausing at short intervals for wine or cake. Just as one of them seemed to be cinching the victory, the other would turn the whole game around on a king or an ace and the cycle would begin all over again.

“You know, if there was any way I could lose on purpose, I would,” Grantaire said. “I admit you deserve a morale boost after the week you've had. I'd let you have it.”

“No, I want an honorable victory, too,” Enjolras said, his eyes on the cards. “Besides,” he added, looking up intently. “If you want to make me feel good, you can do that later.”

Grantaire smiled, raising his eyebrows. “Of course,” he said, picking up the bottle of wine and finishing it off.

Enjolras grinned back, and they continued their battle. Luckily for him, they each threw down an ace and he won them both in the ensuing war. “You're in trouble now,” he purred.

“Good,” Grantaire said. “The sooner we finish cards, the sooner we can play a _better_ game.”

Enjolras blushed, but excitement fluttered in his chest. He flipped his cards faster to meet Grantaire's quickening pace, his heart drumming steadily within him and pumping adrenaline straight to his fingers. With control of the aces, he was able to pick off Grantaire's valuable face cards, slowly diminishing the deck Grantaire held in his hands.

Shortly, Enjolras's deck was almost complete, and Grantaire had only three cards left. They each flipped over their next card. A black two, a red two. A tie.

“And here I meet my fate,” Grantaire announced. The two of them set their next cards face down on the pile. Then Grantaire was down to his final card, and he flipped it over as Enjolras did the same with his own. Grantaire had the jack of hearts, Enjolras the king of spades.

“I win,” Enjolras whispered, savoring the victory.

“You win,” Grantaire agreed, pushing their final pile of cards toward him, and as he did so, he leaned in to meet his lips.

Enjolras kissed him back, suppressing a giddy laugh. Grantaire's mouth still tasted of wine. “I would have won something from you,” Enjolras said as he pulled back. “Had I taken that bet.”

“But you didn't,” Grantaire teased. “Besides, we can both agree I bested you at dominoes overall. We’re even.”

Enjolras nodded in agreement, satisfied enough with his victory at War. “So you said you had a new game in mind?”

Grantaire smiled mischievously. “Why don't we get ready for bed first, and then we'll get into it.”

They were already dressed in their pajamas, but they took turns brushing their teeth at the sink and cleaning up. The cards and dominoes in the middle of the floor were tucked away in their boxes, the half-eaten cake closed up and set on Enjolras's desk.

“So, the beds?” Grantaire inquired as he came out of the bathroom.

Enjolras nodded, moving to stand beside his bed as Grantaire did the same to his own. Enjolras hooked his hand beneath the frame under the mattress and attempted to tug it away from the wall. The wood groaned on the floorboards, making him wince.

“Let's do this one at a time,” Grantaire said quickly, changing tactics to help Enjolras. He went to the end of the bed, gesturing for Enjolras to move down to the other end. “Don't drag, lift. Ready?”

Together they managed to move Enjolras's bed into the center of the room, and then followed suit with Grantaire's, pushing it flush against Enjolras's. Combined they created a king-sized bed, and Grantaire climbed up onto it to spread out the blankets more evenly. “Nice, isn't it?” he said, impressed with his own idea.

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed, looking on admiringly.

“Turn out the lights and join me,” Grantaire said as he got under the covers.

“Be right there.” Enjolras went to flip the switch beside the door, leaving them in darkness. He heard a slight murmuring in the hallway though, and he felt for the doorknob, cracking the door open and peeking out. Seniors in pajamas were returning to their rooms, or heading to the group bathroom down the hall. The last movie had ended and students were going to bed. Assured that no one had heard their furniture rearrangement, Enjolras quietly shut the door again.

In the dark, he held out his hand, blindly searching for the end of the bed in front of him now that it was in an unfamiliar place. He fingertips grazed across a bedpost, then blanket. Climbing up onto the bed, he found Grantaire holding the covers open for him. Enjolras slipped inside and settled against him, and Grantaire let the blankets fall back down around them.

“So what was the game you wanted to play?” Enjolras asked, his body still thrumming with anticipation.

“Truth. Like Truth or Dare except you don't have to get up,” Grantaire explained.

“You might say we could still do dares, in this position,” Enjolras pointed out, as he felt his own heartbeat against Grantaire’s chest.

Grantaire laughed under his breath, nosing him. “A tempting thought. But like you mentioned when you turned down the bet, I don't need to tell you what to do. So we'll ask each other things. I'll ask you, then you ask me and so on.”

Enjolras nodded, his hand reaching up to idly touch the fine hairs at the back of Grantaire's neck, underneath his wilder, thicker hair. “Truth it is then. You must want to know something from me.”

“I do. Are you volunteering to go first?” Grantaire asked, leaning his head back against Enjolras's hand.

“Go ahead and ask.” Enjolras gently scritched Grantaire's head, his fingers weaving into his hair.

Grantaire let out a soft laugh and put his lips to Enjolras's ear in a whisper. “I want you to tell me about that fantasy of yours.”

Enjolras immediately felt himself flushing, growing hot under his cheeks. “Grantaire,” he chided in shy admonishment.

“It's alright,” Grantaire coaxed. “You can ask me anything, too. We’re figuring each other out, right? I want to hear your thoughts. Give me a little insight, I won't tell a soul.”

Enjolras bit his lip, his hand stilling at the back of Grantaire's head as he considered.

“We don't have to play the game,” Grantaire said softly.

“No. I'll do it,” Enjolras said, not one to back down from a challenge. He took a moment to breathe before answering. “I imagined myself as a boy from Ancient Greece. And I was…” He was glad it was too dark to see each other properly, knowing Grantaire's eyes were on him. “...a virgin on an altar for the gods,” he whispered. He heard Grantaire let out a breath, not knowing if it was meant to be a laugh or a sign of interest. “And, um,” he continued, “then you, the satyr I mean, he'd appear and see me while I was… I was… Grantaire, this is embarrassing,” he protested, turning his face to the pillow.

“Touching yourself?” Grantaire guessed, trying to pick up where Enjolras had left off. “It's okay,” he said gently pressing his hips against Enjolras's.

Enjolras drew in a breath, a thrill running through him as he realized Grantaire was hard. “Yes,” he admitted, emerging from the pillow. “I was touching myself. And the satyr came to watch, and then…”

“And then?” Grantaire prompted, slowly moving his hips against him.

“He would take me for his own, defying my destiny with the gods,” Enjolras finished in a whisper.

“So… you were meant to be a martyr, but then I… I come and save you?” Grantaire asked. “Or is it the other way around, I save you and then c-”

“Stop,” Enjolras laughed with embarrassment, pushing against Grantaire and feeling his insistent arousal. “That's it. I've said enough already. It's your turn for the truth.”

“Alright,” Grantaire agreed. “I'm done embarrassing you for now. Ask away.”

Enjolras thought for a moment, but it didn't take him long before a question came to mind. “What _would_ you have asked for, had I taken your bet earlier?”

“Oh,” Grantaire said. It seemed that now it was his turn to be shy, for he let out a flustered breath, his hips stilling.

“Hmm?” Enjolras pressed.

“You wouldn't have had to, even if I had won,” Grantaire said as a precursor. “Only if you’d wanted to. But… I… I was curious to know what last night felt like, for you,” he said quickly. “I mean, what it would feel like for me too.”

“Oh, so… you... want me to go down on you,” Enjolras concluded softly.

“I... I mean, only if that's what you want to do,” Grantaire stammered.

“Well then,” Enjolras teased. “I'll keep it in mind. Next question.”

Grantaire made a soft whimper of embarrassment, but Enjolras reached around to slip his hand beneath Grantaire's shirt, rubbing his back to soothe him. Grantaire relaxed beneath the touch.

“Want to know anything else?” Enjolras whispered.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, pausing dramatically before he finally asked his question. “Truth. Am I your type?”

“Type?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes, I mean, am I the kind of person you imagined yourself with before you knew me? Did you want someone that looked like me?” There was insecurity in his tone.

Enjolras curled up his lip in an awkward smile. “I never imagined myself with anyone, before I met you. If I had a… a _fantasy_ , it was just me. I don't mean that in a narcissistic way, just that I was always alone. If there was more it would be shadows, or some invisible presence watching from who knows where.” He shook his head, knowing it sounded odd. “It didn't become something until I started seeing you there, in my mind. I guess that helped me to understand that I was attracted to you, as scared as I was.”

“Scared?”

“Yes, realizing I was having those kind of thoughts about my own roommate, I thought it might be wrong. But being near you taught me that you’re the kind of person I can't help but be attracted to. Even when I tried to put a stop to it, I couldn’t. It was impossible not to be. So I guess you _must_ be my type, if I can’t help myself,” Enjolras laughed shyly. “Does... does that answer your question?”

“It does,” Grantaire smiled, running a hand through Enjolras’s hair. “Thank you. Your turn.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said as he took a breath, knowing his next question was a bit more serious. “Is there... is there any part of you that still wants to leave the school?” he asked hesitantly. “Even now?”

Grantaire was silent for a moment. Enjolras swallowed, feeling a little stupid for not asking something more thematic, though the answer certainly did affect their relationship. “It would be a lie to say no,” Grantaire finally admitted softly. “Because a small part of me wishes that I could go back to my old school and somehow simply take you with me. Introduce you to my friends, take you to my classes. Even though I know it could never happen.”

Enjolras smiled in sympathy. The idea was almost appealing considering how the start of the year at Corinthe had turned out so far.

“But setting those thoughts aside, I think I was given a new start here at Corinthe for a reason. And that reason is you, and to go and leave now would be a grave mistake. I don't want you to worry. My place is here with you. And I won't try to get in trouble anymore, okay?” Grantaire trailed his fingers across Enjolras’s cheek.

“Okay,” Enjolras said, smiling wider in relief. That was what he wanted to hear.

“My turn?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras nodded.

“Well, since you asked me that, then I think it’s fair to ask you this, just to be sure... If you had the chance to have this room to yourself again, would you take it?”

Enjolras didn't think twice before shaking his head. “No,” he said with certainty. “Not at all. If I were allowed to take anything back, it would be the terrible things I said to you. I would do it in an instant.”

“You're forgiven, Enjolras,” Grantaire said with sincerity. His fingers brushed across the back of Enjolras's neck.

Enjolras smiled softly, Grantaire’s words bringing him comfort. “Thank you, Grantaire.”

“So not even if they said they’d just put me in a single next door, if it were free?”

“No. Then I would have to do everything I could to sneak you back in. You being here for me these past few nights has meant the world to me.”

“It's meant everything to me too,” Grantaire nodded. “I'm glad to hear you’ll stick with me, if I'm sticking here with you. Your turn, now.”

Enjolras bit his lip, thinking it over. Though they were playing a game, it seemed much more than that. It was difficult to find something else to ask after such a significant exchange. But he managed to remember something he very much wanted to know, that seemed a fitting follow-up question to such a discussion. “Are... are you my boyfriend now?”

From what Enjolras could see in the darkness, Grantaire's eyes widened, and then a grin crossed his face. “Yes,” he said resolutely, elation in his voice. “ _Yes._ Absolutely. I mean, do you agree? It’s official, you and me?”

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded, his cheeks flushed with pleasure at the confirmation. “But officially a secret.”

“Just between us.”

He felt Grantaire's lips upon his, then on his nose and cheeks. He peppered him with kisses, and Enjolras made a soft sound of satisfaction, the hand he had on Grantaire's back dipping down to slip beneath the hem of his pajama pants.

Grantaire started at the touch, but then purred his approval and pushed Enjolras onto his back, climbing on top of him to kiss him more. He was growing hard again, and Enjolras felt himself responding in return.

“Truth,” Grantaire said, as he pulled back from the kiss. His breath was heavy. “Do you _promise_ you trust me now? ...Because I felt your doubts about my intentions, earlier this evening.”

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded. There had been no need to doubt or let his anxiety gnaw away at him. Grantaire had once again proven his intentions were good and sensible, if not entirely pure. “I promise. I trust you, Grantaire, from now on. No more doubts.”

He heard Grantaire let out a satisfied sigh, and saw him grinning above him in the darkness. “Good,” he said, before nosing his cheek. “I'm looking out for you, you know. I’ve got your back.”

Enjolras was truly happy to hear it. He let out a breath of relief. “And I'll have yours.”

Grantaire nodded. “And you'll be mine,” he said in a low whisper, and leaned in for another kiss. His hips pressed against Enjolras's as their mouths met, his body warm and pleasantly overbearing as he loomed over him.

It was so easy for Enjolras to slip into his fantasy as he reached up to run his hands over Grantaire's taut muscles and up into his wild hair. In the darkness, he was taken right into a world where he was that Greek boy laid bare, found by the curious satyr. And with no reluctance, he would let him do what he liked, because he wanted it, too, craving affection that he had at first so naively dismissed. His heart beat vigorously, enlivened, enthralled, and he knew that if he wasn't careful, he would let this satyr boy claim him right then.

 _Forget the fantasy,_ Enjolras thought, returning to himself, though it wasn't long before he was lost again. Those strong boxer’s arms around him brought back memories of Grantaire at the gym, full of adrenaline and glistening with sweat, and oh, how such a sight had changed him forever. Enjolras fumbled to pull Grantaire's shirt up and off of him, so he could run his hands over his back and bare shoulders. Perhaps it was the wine, or maybe dizziness from each gasping breath he took between kisses, but Enjolras felt himself getting carried away, all too ready to offer what he had been afraid of only hours before. If he pulled off his pajamas and lost himself in this, he might let everything go. He needed to regain control of himself, and the situation. Luckily, Grantaire had already suggested an alternate solution.

“T-truth,” Enjolras panted as he managed to break Grantaire's kiss, putting his lips to his ear. “Do you want to end the game and... let me go down on you?”

Grantaire paused, poised over him. “Were we still playing?” he asked, sounding as if it were too good to be true.

“I still am. Answer the question,” Enjolras insisted.

“Yes, I do,” Grantaire slowly nodded, taking a breath, and turned Enjolras's head to whisper in his ear in turn. “I want you to go down on me, Enjolras.”

“I will,” Enjolras agreed with satisfaction, having successfully thwarted his own runaway desires. But his heart fluttered with the realization of what he had offered instead. _Grantaire did it yesterday,_ he reminded himself. He wanted to keep up with him, so they could experience the same things together. “How should I start?”

“Um,” Grantaire said, swallowing audibly. “Roll over. Switch places with me.”

Enjolras did so, moving aside as Grantaire dismounted him and took his place, laying back and kicking the covers away. He pulled down the hem of his pajama pants, and Enjolras laid down between his legs, his hands resting on Grantaire's flannel thighs. Right in front of him, Enjolras could see the silhouette of Grantaire’s released arousal in the darkness. He reached out to grasp it in hand. “So do I just…?” he started to ask.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, shifting his hips at Enjolras's touch. “D-don't worry, it was easy,” he assured him.

Enjolras nodded. “Right. Well. Cover your mouth if you can't stay quiet,” he reminded him.

“No problem,” Grantaire said. “I can be quiet.”

Enjolras nodded again, his eyes on what was waiting in front of him. He took a deep breath, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, and leaned forward to touch his lips to Grantaire's cock. He heard Grantaire suck in his breath. “Easy...” Enjolras said, Grantaire's excitement making him smile.

Grantaire laughed nervously, though it turned into a gasp as Enjolras put his mouth around the tip of his cock, tasting it curiously with his tongue. The skin was surprisingly soft, even with Grantaire being so hard.

“Oh… ohhh…. _wow_ …” Grantaire moaned all too loudly, his fingers weaving tightly into Enjolras's hair.

“Shhh!” Enjolras warned, lifting up to admonish him. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispered, before he started to laugh again. “It’s just that… I-I thought yesterday was the best day ever, but that was before today. Before right now. Because tonight is even better than before.” He smiled, nearly trembling with anticipation.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better, too,” Enjolras said softly, gazing up at him.

“I can’t even fathom that, Enj, but you could be right,” Grantaire nodded with a grin. “Maybe the best is yet to come.”


	8. A Righteous Fury

Enjolras found himself draped over Grantaire the next morning, surprised to wake up in the middle of the room until he remembered they were sprawled across their two beds shoved together. Somehow during the night their pajama bottoms had stayed on, though he spotted their shirts thrown carelessly across the floor a few feet away. He looked back to Grantaire, who was still asleep. _You look happy,_ Enjolras thought as he saw that even in sleep there was a blissful upturn of his lips.

Enjolras ran his tongue across his own lips, tasting an echo of last night. He remembered Grantaire stroking his hair, how gentle he had been compared to Enjolras’s own desperate behavior when he had been the one receiving. He blushed at the thought, but was pleased with his accomplishment, having climbed another rung on the ladder of intimate knowledge.

He left the bed for the bathroom, and when he returned, Grantaire was waking up, stretching luxuriantly amid the sheets. Enjolras sat down on the bed beside him, and Grantaire blinked and smiled up at him. “Good morning,” Enjolras said casually. “Seems you enjoyed your night.”

“Very much, thank you.” Grantaire reached up, hooking his hand around Enjolras’s neck and tugged him down for a kiss.

“No,” Enjolras suddenly protested, squirming away. “You need to shave. And brush your teeth.”

Grantaire put a hand to his face, feeling the prickles of his stubble, and nodded. “Fine. Hold that thought,” he said, sitting up and slipping off the bed.

Grantaire left the door to the bathroom open as he took care of the matter at the sink, and out of curiosity Enjolras stuck his head in to watch as he spread shaving cream on his face. “Hm?” Grantaire asked, noticing Enjolras behind him in the mirror as he put the razor to his cheek.

“I like to watch you do that ,” Enjolras admitted, coming in and closing the lid of the toilet to sit down beside the sink.

“...You never shave,” Grantaire said, as if he only just realized, glancing at him before his eyes went back to the mirror to focus.

“Can't seem to grow facial hair,” Enjolras sighed. It had always been a point of insecurity for him, something that seemed so juvenile.

“Your face is much better without it, trust me. One less chore to do.” Grantaire carefully turned his face as the razor glided across it.

“I know, but I wish I felt _older,_ you know?”

Grantaire laughed. “You’re eighteen, Enj. Shaving won't make or break you. And I like the way you look just as you are. No need to ruin a pretty face.”

Enjolras twisted his mouth sideways, trying to hide a smile as he looked away. Grantaire finished up, rinsing the razor and splashing water onto his face. He turned to Enjolras after he dried himself with his washcloth and took his hand. Enjolras stood and let Grantaire guide his hand to his cheek. “Better?”

His skin was smooth, pleasantly cool beneath Enjolras’s fingertips, and felt so different from the day before. Enjolras smiled as he allowed himself to run his fingers indulgently over Grantaire's jawline. “Very nice.”

“Good,” Grantaire leaned in to kiss him, and in kissing him again Enjolras was struck by the difference. _So soft,_ he thought as Grantaire's lips pressed against his. He could probably kiss him for ages like this.

He felt Grantaire's fingers run down his belly and hook around the hem of his pajama pants, gently pulling them down.

“Grantaire, it's too early for that,” Enjolras admonished as he broke the kiss.

“No, I just... wanted to have a look,” Grantaire said, turning Enjolras’s face over his shoulder, toward the mirror.

There were the marks on the backs of his thighs, still visible and would be for quite a while, but perhaps they were a little less black and blue today. “Day four,” Enjolras commented.

“Does it still hurt?”

Enjolras reached down to run a hand over the back of his thigh. “Feels better,” he reported back with relief, and a weak smile.

Grantaire gave him another kiss and pulled Enjolras’s pants back up. “Good. Now let's put the beds back where they belong and go to breakfast.”

As they sat down with their trays of pancakes in the Great Hall, they were joined by Combeferre, Joly, and Marius. “You look well,” Combeferre said quietly as he took the seat by Enjolras.

“Hm?” Enjolras asked, looking up from his plate.

“Well, it seems you weren't operating at optimum Enjolras levels last week,” he said, trying to make light of it. Combeferre knew about the ABC debacle, but he didn't know all the rest. “I was worried about you. But it looks like a day off served you well. You've got a healthy glow about you now.”

Enjolras reached up to touch his cheeks, as if he could feel the glow. He felt a flustered heat beneath his fingertips instead. “It's a wonder what a good night’s sleep will do,” he replied, subconsciously glancing at Grantaire before quickly averting his eyes.

“How was movie night?” Joly asked.

“It was fine,” Enjolras said casually as he took another bite of pancake. “We didn't stay for the whole thing.”

“That's ’cause Enjolras nearly jumped out of his skin,” Courfeyrac said as he joined them, taking a seat across the table.

“Sounds scary,” Joly said in awe.

“It wasn't,” Enjolras said dryly. “There _is_ a difference between fear and surprise, Courf. My mind was on other things,” he shrugged.

“And what was-” Courfeyrac began, but he looked past Enjolras, distracted as Montparnasse walked past their table with the rest of Patron-Minette.

They walked right up to the breakfast line and, as Brujon began to push aside a group of freshman, Montparnasse caught him by the shirt. “Don't be a pig, Brujon, you can wait to eat,” he snapped, and pulled him into the queue with everyone else.

Courfeyrac laughed in disbelief. “What was that that about?” he said in a hushed voice. “When did Parnasse start waiting in line?”

“I have no idea…” Enjolras said as he looked down the table, curious to see if Bahorel was around, but he hadn't arrived.

When breakfast was over, Enjolras and Grantaire returned to their room to dive into homework. They had plenty of down time the day before, but now it was time to focus, considering he had makeup work to do on top of the regular fare. To get organized he took out a notebook and began to devise a checklist of everything he needed to take care of for his Monday and Tuesday classes.

 _Economics - handout_  
_History - textbook questions_  
_Literature - Notre-Dame reading_  
_Debate - ???_

Debate on Thursday had ended in such a blur it was hard to remember if they even had an assignment. He was afraid he had missed something, but considering the state that Javert had been in, Enjolras was pretty sure he hadn’t bothered to give them homework.

 _Mathematics - study for quiz (makeup work)_  
_English - Wuthering Heights reading and analysis (makeup work)_  
_Religion - faith essay (done)_  
_Art - nothing_

Enjolras put down his pen with a solemn nod. He had quite a bit of work, but at least three of his classes had no outstanding assignments. Since the homework due tomorrow was a priority, he would go right down the list from top to bottom. He set to work on the handout for Fantine’s class, filling in blanks and short answer questions about the low-income workforce.

Every now and then, Enjolras would glance over to Grantaire, who was quietly working on his own assignments, sprawled across his bed on the other side of the room. It was hard to fathom that this person across the room was his boyfriend. Would he tell his parents about Grantaire? _Mom, Grantaire is a special friend of mine._ He laughed under his breath with embarrassment as he put away his completed Economics assignment and opened his History textbook. Would his parents understand? Did they ever imagine that he might date a boy?

Grantaire looked up from his homework, noticing Enjolras watching him. He gave him a sideways smile. “Study time,” he said apologetically, as if he already knew Enjolras wanted to join him on the bed.

Enjolras nodded and flipped through his textbook, searching for the right pages and trying to refocus. But an hour later when he had finished all the questions on the History assignment, he grabbed _Notre-Dame de Paris_ and went over to the other side of the room. Grantaire looked up from _Wuthering Heights_ , and without hesitation moved aside to make room on his bed for the two of them. Enjolras lay down beside him, and together they basked in each other's warmth as they silently read their books. Grantaire's hand dropped down to trace an idle path over Enjolras’s belly between page turns, while he tucked his sock-covered feet under Enjolras’s leg.

When Enjolras reached the end of the chapter, he dogeared his place and laid the book down, turning his head to observe Grantaire. He was still reading peacefully, though his eyes darted to meet Enjolras’s when he realized he was being watched. With a soft smile, Enjolras rolled onto his side and wiggled closer, pushing himself between Grantaire and his book insistently. He didn't need to say anything, Grantaire obediently dropped the book and wrapped his arms around Enjolras, pulling him close. Enjolras put his hands to Grantaire's smooth cheeks, nosing him affectionately before leaning in for a kiss.

He knew he should stick to his study schedule and yet he couldn't resist the comfort of Grantaire's arms. _It's good to take a break, every once in a while,_ he told himself. _It's healthy._ He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh against Grantaire's lips, kissing him sweetly again and again. The smallest voice inside his head told him to stop, to get to work and quit fooling around. Yet the rest of him resisted, and his hand clenched tightly around the fabric of Grantaire's shirt, right over his heart, refusing to let go.

Grantaire smiled through the kiss, letting out a little laugh under his breath. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Enjolras nodded distractedly and kissed him again, though he gasped as he felt Grantaire’s hand slip past his belt and into his pants. He pushed against his hand, rubbing himself on Grantaire's palm, and reached down to undo his belt. When it was loose, Grantaire reached further down, his whole hand encompassing Enjolras's shaft as he stroked him with the flat of his palm.

Enjolras sucked in his breath, attempting to continue the kiss despite the diversion below his waist. He attempted to push down his underwear further, squirming while trying to keep in contact with Grantaire's hand, and Grantaire continued to calmly rub him. He was patient, and while Enjolras rolled his hips with growing urgency, Grantaire passively kissed him back, slow and steady. It was almost maddening, but Enjolras already knew he enjoyed Grantaire's teasing and here he was finding yet another way to do so.

“Easy, easy,” Grantaire chided. “There's no hurry.”

But Enjolras didn't want to slow down, and thrust himself against Grantaire's hand, his desire mounting. “Th-there is if we want to get back to… to homework,” he panted.

“But why would we want that?” Grantaire asked, closing his hand around the tip of his cock and massaging it.

 _“Grantaire!”_ Enjolras breathed out, half in frustration and half in pleasure.

“Yes?” Grantaire asked lazily.

“I want… I need to-” But Enjolras gasped, startled as a loud knock sounded, rattling the door in its frame.

Grantaire's eyes widened, his hand retracting. “Put it back in!” he whispered as he sat up, glancing nervously at the door.

“I _know_ that!” Enjolras hissed, hurriedly pulling his underwear back up and tucking himself inside. Grantaire walked cautiously to the door, looking back to check on him, and Enjolras hopped off the bed, quickly fastening his belt. “It's fine, I'm fine, we’re fine,” he said, annoyed at the interruption, pulling down his sweater to cover any lingering evidence.

Grantaire nodded and opened the door. “Hey there,” he said cheerily, swinging the door back to reveal Bahorel and Courfeyrac, who had a football in hand.

“Hi,” Enjolras added, standing behind Grantaire.

“Heya,” Courfeyrac replied.

Bahorel simply looked Enjolras up and down with a smirk. Enjolras felt a little pulse of fear from within. Were his cheeks too pink, his lips too red? He subtly brought his hand to his mouth to shield it, as if he were merely striking a thoughtful pose.

Bahorel broke his suspicious gaze. “We're on our way to lunch, but we’re gonna have a scrimmage after. Practice for the big game. We need some volunteers to give us a little competition,” he explained.

“I don't think I can,” Enjolras said, moving his hand to speak but looking at the floor guiltily instead. “I've got two assignments worth of reading for English I've got to take care of this afternoon and an essay to go with them.”

“Bummer for you, Enj, but we're not here for you,” Courfeyrac said cheekily. “We want him.” He extended a finger in Grantaire's direction.

“Me?” Grantaire asked, looking up in surprise, still holding onto the doorknob.

“Seem like the athletic type to me,” Bahorel commented approvingly. “Know how to play?”

“Of course I do,” Grantaire smiled, radiantly happy to be included. “Count me in!”

“Great!” Courfeyrac beamed.

“Let me play goalie. I'm good with my hands,” Grantaire said, wiggling his fingers.

Enjolras stared harder at the floor.

“You're hired,” Bahorel announced. “C’mon.”

“I'll just get my shoes on,” Grantaire said, sitting down to put on the ones waiting by the door. He looked up at Enjolras. “Come with us.”

“But-”

“Bring your book. Sit in the stands and watch us play. Cheer me on.”

Enjolras couldn't help but laugh. “They're the ones that are supposed to win,” he said, gesturing to Bahorel and Courfeyrac. “You're a stand-in for the rival team.”

“Yes but I'll be making them work for that victory,” Grantaire replied playfully, knotting his laces and hopping back up. “Let's go.” He patted Enjolras on the back.

“Alright, alright,” Enjolras sighed in resignation, slipping on his shoes and retrieving his copy of _Wuthering Heights_. “I'm coming,” he grumbled, a little sore they hadn't gotten to finish their previous activity first.

As they headed down the dormitory hallway, Bahorel leaned down to whisper in his ear. _“_ Zip up your pants.”

Enjolras gasped and looked down. His sweater had caught on the unfastened crotch of his pants. He quickly reached down to remedy the situation, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

After a lunch of sandwiches and chips, they trekked out to the athletic field. Courfeyrac tossed the ball down onto the grass and kicked it to the center of the field in a whirl of black and white. Enjolras ascended to a good lookout point at the top of the stands and sat down with his book. The players were gathering on the field, the real Corinthe team and the stand-in team who were joining in for a fun Sunday afternoon. Bahorel must have asked Montparnasse's gang to join in for they arrived and took the field, though Montparnasse simply sat down on a lower tier of the stands, not having been recruited as a challenger. Other athletic juniors and sophomores completed the rival team, and soon they started their practice game, Feuilly in one goal and Grantaire in the other.

Enjolras watched the kickoff and the first ten minutes of the match before he finally opened his book. It was hard to concentrate on his second language while the players shouted and onlookers cheered from down below, but it was a nice day outside for enjoying the sunlight and a book, so he kept reading. Behind his text, the stand-in team seemed to be giving the home team quite a fight, considering the Patron-Minette members were playing dirty. Enjolras guessed Bahorel had purposely selected a players that would give them a rough time, in preparation for the real match.

He was looking up from his book again, watching Courfeyrac kick down the field, when he noticed Montparnasse looking up at him from the first row of seats. When their eyes met, Montparnasse slowly rose and made his way up the aisle to Enjolras's level. Enjolras put down his book, eyes following Montparnasse as he approached.

“Can we talk?” he asked, standing over Enjolras.

“Yes. Why don't you sit down?” Enjolras suggested, patting a spot on the bench beside him.

Montparnasse sat down with an audible exhalation, but Enjolras kept quiet, waiting for him to go first. “I- assume you got my message yesterday,” Montparnasse began tentatively.

“Oh yes, I ate it,” said Enjolras casually, his gaze returning to the game. "It was quite tasty." He added a smile, amused.

“That's good,” Montparnasse nodded. “That's… good…” He trailed off as he watched Brujon gain control of the ball. “I meant it, you know. That I'm sorry. I didn't imagine that Javert would-”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras interrupted. “We don't need to talk about that. Let's just talk about us.”

“Us?” Montparnasse repeated.

“Yes. Do you want to start over, Parnasse?”

Montparnasse looked at him blankly, though he seemed to be listening.

“I mean, forget everything that happened before now,” Enjolras continued thoughtfully. Grantaire had done it for him, he could do the same for Montparnasse. “Put it behind us. You’ll have nothing against me, I’ll have nothing against you. How does that sound?”

Montparnasse slowly nodded. “Good... that sounds good.” He turned his eyes back to the field in silent contemplation, where Brujon was kicking the ball towards the home goal.

“And hopefully we can keep things that way. You're dating Bahorel, you're in the play with Grantaire… I want our little end of the hallway to get along, you and me included.”

“Yes,” Montparnasse agreed, though he was distracted as Bahorel wrested control of the ball from Brujon. _”Yes!”_ he echoed with excitement.

They both watched, their eyes following Bahorel's progress down the field. “Go! Go!” Montparnasse barked. With a forceful kick, Bahorel sent the ball flying toward the goal and... Grantaire dove for it, miraculously catching the ball before it smacked into him. He grinned, holding it up.

“Yes!” Enjolras cheered, in unison with Montparnasse’s groan, applauding Grantaire.

Montparnasse turned to him in incredulity. “What the hell? Don't you want Corinthe to win?”

Enjolras stopped clapping, his smile slackening. “Oh… I… I mean it was a good save,” he shrugged awkwardly, watching Grantaire throw the ball back into play. “Of course I want Corinthe to win. I’ve just... I've never seen Grantaire play before. He's... he’s really good.” He couldn't even come up with a lie.

Montparnasse eyed him.

“What?” Enjolras asked casually, meeting his stare.

“Do you _like_ him, Enjolras?” He asked suspiciously.

Enjolras opened his mouth but stopped, wondering if he should deny or pretend that Montparnasse had only meant as friends. “I mean-”

“Yes,” Montparnasse scoffed, tossing his head. “You hesitated. The answer is yes.”

Enjolras closed his mouth, his cheeks darkening. Was it really so obvious?

“Well good luck, I guess,” Montparnasse said, standing up. “He confessed to me at rehearsal last week he already has a crush on someone.”

“He did?” Enjolras asked, looking up at him.

“Well, I kind of twisted his arm, but yes. And if he’s gay and it's anyone at this school, it's probably me,” Montparnasse said, brushing back his dark hair. “I'm obviously the best choice. Too bad I'm already taken.”

Enjolras tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Too bad.”

“But not for you,” Montparnasse offered. “Maybe that means you'll have a chance with him.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, grinning, but thought better of it and started over. “I'm going to get back to my reading now,” he said decidedly, pulling _Wuthering Heights_ back into his lap. “Can we keep this between us? Part of our truce?”

Montparnasse paused and slowly nodded.

Enjolras held out his hand to Montparnasse, and they shook on it. “I'm sorry, too,” Enjolras said, keeping hold of him. “I should never have threatened to tell your secret. It's safe with me.”

“Yours, too,” Montparnasse said reluctantly, as if it pained him to make such a promise, yet Enjolras could sense sincerity within.

“Thank you,” Enjolras nodded, releasing him.

“I guess I'll see you in Debate tomorrow,” Montparnasse said, turning away to head down to his seat below.

“Yeah. See you,” Enjolras called, frowning as he watched him leave.

Debate was unavoidable. No matter how hard he tried to push it from his mind he would still have to go tomorrow, still have to see Javert's face sneering at him from the front of the classroom. He would have to face him, hold his head up high and continue his classwork with dignity. Enjolras lay down on the bench, eyes turned skyward, studying the clouds. It was still many hours away and yet any moment closer was too soon. _Think of other things,_ he thought desperately. _Do your homework._

Reluctantly, he brought the book to his nose, opening it and shading his face from the afternoon sunlight. He found his place again in the text and continued his slow journey through the moors of England, while the football match continued on down below. As he was reading, something mentally jabbed at him, a small pinprick in the depths of his mind. His brows drew together in consternation, and he turned a page, willing himself to focus. And then suddenly, hard and fast, he sat up as if he had been struck by lighting.

He gasped, mouth open, dropping _Wuthering Heights_ in shock. He knew when he was making out his homework checklist that there was something hidden away in his memory, something despicable he had blocked out that suddenly came crashing back to the forefront of his brain. An apology letter to Javert. Javert had demanded a written apology.

 _I can't, I won't!_ Enjolras cried in his head, picking his book back up off the step beneath him, fingers grasping it shakily. His gaze drifted back to the field, where the players were gleefully egging each other on and having fun. _And what will happen if I don't?_ He swallowed hard, remembering Javert's words. _One more step out of line and I'll have you expelled faster than you can blink._ And it could happen, too. Enjolras was a student on behavioral probation and Javert was a teacher, it wasn't hard to see who Valjean would side with.

 _But how can I even begin to write something like that? It would mean nothing… no, it would mean I would be agreeing to Javert's side of the story._ He felt frozen, paralyzed by anxiety. Either way he would lose. He would either be admitting to negligent misbehavior in the classroom, or defying Javert and inciting his ire once more by not doing it. Either way would put him in a dangerous position. Was one path worse than the other?

 _If you don't write it, he'll cane you again,_ he warned himself. His jaw clenched. _And if I do I'll be letting him take the truth away from me. I'll be remembered at Corinthe as a delinquent. A boy who caused trouble, a boy who attacked his teacher, and not as the upstanding student I was._ But, he realized with a grim frown, feeling his eyes start to well up, it was too late for that anyway. He already was a troublemaker in Valjean's eyes. No matter the choice, he was damned whether he wrote the letter or not.

 _Then I won't write it,_ Enjolras decided. He would defend his honor as best he could in front of Valjean on the inevitable visit to his office, but he would not beg Javert’s forgiveness for something he didn't do. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes, composing himself, but making a choice didn't give him any relief. He stared down at the book in his hands, and opened it, but now the sentences were indecipherable, his mind unwilling to take on the task. Instead he simply stared out at the field, watching his friends run around on the grass, his boyfriend standing at the ready in the goal and oblivious to his despair.

As the match came to a close, the proper Corinthe team scored the winning goal, Grantaire missing the ball by inches as it soared into the net. There were cheers from the spectators down below on the stands, and the team ran together to celebrate their early victory. Enjolras slowly descended the steps, clutching his book, to meet Grantaire down on the sidelines.

“Good game!” Grantaire called to his opponents.

“Hey man, anytime you want to play for fun, come join us,” Bahorel said enthusiastically. “Thanks for playing!”

“Anytime,” Grantaire agreed with a wave, before turning to Enjolras. “Hey, what did you think? Close match, huh? I was pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras agreed, attempting a smile.

“Did you get your reading done?”

Enjolras shook his head.

“Too focused on the game? That’s alright. Your English class isn’t until Tuesday, right?”

Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire smiled in bemusement, confused by Enjolras’s demeanor. “C’mon, you. Let’s go back to the room,” he said, draping a guiding arm around his shoulder.

Once back in the dorm, their door safely closed behind them, Grantaire turned to him. “Is everything okay?” he asked uncertainly.

Enjolras didn't want to drag Grantaire down from his post-game high, nor did he want to go over his troubles again just yet. “Could… Could you help me with my English homework?” he asked instead, and though asking for help on a task he could complete on his own was humiliating, he almost felt he needed it.

Grantaire raised his brows, not expecting Enjolras's question. “Of course, of course I can,” he said consolingly.

“You don't have other homework you should be doing?” Enjolras asked guiltily.

“Nah, don't worry about it. I've got everything done for tomorrow. Just let me take a shower real quick and then we can get started, okay?”

Enjolras nodded, and sat down on his bed to wait as Grantaire disappeared into the bathroom. He had meant to close the door, yet it was open a crack, and Enjolras stared at the tiny opening, zoning out as he heard Grantaire turn on the shower and step inside. He lasted for all of five minutes, listening to the water slapping down on the shower floor, before he pushed up off the bed, swung open the bathroom door, and invited himself in.

Dropping his clothes on the floor, he pulled aside the curtain and stepped in. Grantaire had his eyes closed, rinsing his hair under the faucet, and wasn't aware of his guest, but Enjolras reached out to touch his shoulder. Grantaire started, pushing his hair out of his face as he opened his eyes, then offered a smile. “Hello, hello,” he greeted him, pleasantly surprised as Enjolras stepped forward and pressed himself against Grantaire and laid his head down on his shoulder.

Grantaire wrapped his arms around his back and held him, happy to let him stay. “You want me to finish what we started earlier?” he asked silkily. “Before we were interrupted?”

Enjolras shook his head silently, eyes closed as he leaned into him, relying on Grantaire to hold him up.

“Alright. Then we'll just stay like this,” Grantaire said, stroking his back and nosing into his dampening hair.

Enjolras sighed and closed his eyes, grateful simply to be held. He didn't want to let go, wishing he could stay there, frozen in a moment of reprieve. Maybe it would even be nice to turn back the clock and relive the day before, anything to stop tomorrow from coming.

 _What will happen if I am expelled?_ he thought. _If Valjean tells me I am out of chances? Where will I go?_ And, he thought grimly as he stood with his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, would he ever see Grantaire again? He was pretty sure expelled students couldn’t just come back to visit campus whenever they wanted. And what about Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, all of his best friends? When the ABC Society had been taken away from him he had thought it was the worst that could ever happen. But now he saw there was much more still yet to lose.

Grantaire gently pulled back, keeping his hands upon him to hold him up. “We’ll never get to your homework like this,” he said with a soft smile. He didn’t understand what Enjolras was thinking, or maybe he was waiting to be told, but he didn’t press him. “I’ll get out now, you finish up in here. Then I can help you get it done.”

Grantaire left him to wash up. Bereft of Grantaire's shoulder he stood there gazing hollowly at the shower wall as he washed his hair. Thankfully the task was done shortly, and he soon joined him out in the bedroom, damp and refreshed. Once dressed again, they lay together on Enjolras's bed, Enjolras with a notebook and pen taking notes for his essay as Grantaire read to him from _Wuthering Heights_ , pausing here and there to help with the definitions. Enjolras was glad for the help, and even moreso captivated by watching Grantaire speak in another language so easily. It gave him a welcome distraction, gazing with fascination and a little touch of academic envy as Grantaire's lips formed the words.

By dinner time, they had finished both the makeup and current reading assignments, and Enjolras had pages of notes for his essay. With only that left in his homework pile, he should have been able to breathe a sigh of relief. But the haunting letter crept back into his mind as they walked towards the Great Hall, and he kept himself in quiet contemplation. _Enjolras, you've been given several chances,_ he could hear Valjean saying in his head. _And now you refuse to obey my teachers. You've skipped classes. You've caused disruptions. This is not the way a student of Corinthe should conduct himself. I'm afraid you give me no choice..._

Enjolras carefully studied the faces of his friends at the dinner table as they ate. Would tonight be his last evening with them, eating with them, talking with them? Would it be the last time he saw Courfeyrac's smile, or heard Marius's shy laugh, or watched Combeferre exchange a knowing look with him over his glasses? Combeferre was looking over at him right then, sensing his distress. A quiet Enjolras was an unusual Enjolras, and Combeferre always needed to find answers for these occurrences.

“What is it?” Combeferre leaned in to ask. “Something wrong again?”

Courfeyrac overheard, looking up attentively from his salad.

Enjolras looked between the two of them, and suddenly the words spilled from his mouth. “We need to have a meeting.” He hadn't even planned to say it, but as he realized what he said, he was sure of it.

“A meeting?” Combeferre asked with an eyebrow raised. His tone suggested what went unsaid. _We’re not supposed to._

“Tonight,” Enjolras reiterated firmly.

“Is this an official meeting or do you mean let’s all hang out together?” Courfeyrac asked.

“No, this is a meeting,” Enjolras replied. “An unofficially official meeting,” he added, considering the club was currently off the books. “It's a secret. Seniors only. Last meeting’s dinner guests.” He could see Grantaire give him a look from the corner of his eye. “Yes, that means you too,” Enjolras nodded to him.

“So where and when?” Courfeyrac pressed.

“Nine PM,” Enjolras said, thinking quickly. “Wear your red and meet in the dorm hallway. Once we have everyone we’ll find another location. Now be quiet about it and pass the message down the table.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac nodded, turning to their respective neighbors and whispering the plan to relay to the other ABC Society members. Grantaire turned to Enjolras and gave him a puzzled look, but Enjolras simply returned a faint smile. Grantaire would understand soon enough.

When they had finished dinner, Enjolras felt renewed. He had something to focus on, if only the immediate future. He returned to his room with Grantaire and sat at his desk, churning out the essay for English with surprising efficiency as he waited for the sun to set and night to fall. Grantaire sat on his bed with his Hamlet script, attempting to memorize his lines, though Enjolras knew he was wary.

“Are you sure you want me to come?” he asked tentatively. “I can stay here if-”

“No,” Enjolras interrupted, turning in his desk chair to face him. “You certainly need to attend tonight. It's important that you're there.”

Grantaire nodded. “Of course,” he said softly, watching him over his script. “I'll be wherever you need me to be.”

 _And if I left would you follow?_ Enjolras thought sadly as he gazed back, once again helplessly thinking of tomorrow. He didn't even know which outcome he would prefer in case of his expulsion. The selfish part of him wanted Grantaire to follow, of course, considering how badly Grantaire had wanted to leave in the first place, it made perfect sense. They would find a new school together. But then he saw the Hamlet drawing pinned over Grantaire's bed, and remembered how proud he was to be cast in this starring role. And he thought of Grantaire's joy at being included in the football match that day, and how hopeful his mother and stepfather must have been for him to belong at Corinthe.

He couldn't ask Grantaire to uproot himself again. They hadn't even been in this relationship for a week yet, and had only known each other for two. How could he think that Grantaire should make such a commitment to him, an actual life-changing choice? Enjolras turned back to his desk, and as he did he caught a glimpse of the drawing Grantaire had made of him beneath the statue of Lamarque. _As fond of each other as we have become,_ he thought grimly, _I must be prepared to say goodbye._

Enjolras proofread his essay three times before deeming it complete, then set down his pen at five minutes until nine o'clock. Finally he had caught up in his classwork, and as anxious as he had been all day, he at least felt relief for this accomplishment. He rose from his desk chair and went to the tiny closet, retrieving his black peacoat. He donned it and then went to the dresser for his ceremonial red, the scarf which he wrapped carefully around his neck. “Don't forget your red, too,” Enjolras said, turning to Grantaire. “It's going to be cold.”

Grantaire smiled as he brought out the scarf that Enjolras’s mother had made for him. "I have something red," he said proudly. When he put it on, the two of them matched, and Enjolras smiled back, reaching over to arrange it just so. Then Grantaire found his jacket and they put on their shoes, and went out to wait in the hallway.

Combeferre was already outside his room down the hall in his red beret, with Joly beside him, so Enjolras and Grantaire moved to stand with them. “Combeferre, you have a flashlight, don't you?” Enjolras asked. He knew that Combeferre kept one for late night reading under the covers.

“Sure, I'll get it,” he said, disappearing into his room for a moment and returning with it in hand, passing it over to Enjolras.

Then Bahorel slipped out of his room to join them, followed by Courfeyrac, Jehan, Feuilly and Bossuet coming out of their room as a pair, and finally Marius running from the bathroom to make it by the stroke of nine from the library clock tower.

“All here,” Enjolras nodded in satisfaction. “Let's go.” They trailed down the stairs and Enjolras led them outside onto the grounds, flashlight switching on.

“If this was meant to be a secret meeting,” Combeferre whispered to him, “we do look rather suspicious in red.”

“It wouldn't be a real meeting without it,” Enjolras said. It was hard to explain why it was so important. Without red, it would just be them having a talk as friends. Their various red items were a unifier, something that truly made them belong to each other and increased the significance of their gathering. Another pro-uniform argument, if he had still cared about Debate. “Besides,” he added. “No one’s out here.”

Still, Enjolras wanted to lead them somewhere they wouldn't be easily seen. Considering the kitchen staff had reported them to Valjean the first time, he didn't want anyone else catching them holding a forbidden ABC Society meeting. With the beam of light illuminating the path ahead, he led them towards the lake, heading left as they drew near to the Great Hall to avoid it. He stepped off the path onto the grass, slowly leading them around the lake as they chattered amongst themselves, all the way to the other side. Nine pairs of footsteps followed behind, crunching over leaves, sticks, and pebbles. When he felt they had walked far enough from sight, he picked a dark, rocky area on the shore beneath the trees and guided them there.

Aided by the beam of the flashlight, the ABC Society members found flat spots on the rocky outcropping to sit on, settling high and low wherever there was space. Enjolras remained standing in front of them, patiently waiting as conversations died away.

“Are you going to tell a ghost story?” Courfeyrac asked teasingly.

Enjolras, realizing he was idly holding the flashlight tilted up to his face, quickly switched it off. “Can you see me well enough?” he asked. It was luckily a clear night despite the chill in the air, and the moon was out, shining on the surface of the lake.

“Just enough,” Combeferre replied. “You're fine.”

Enjolras nodded. “I called you all here because I need to tell you something,” he began. “And I humbly ask that you let me finish first before any interruptions, as tempting as it may be.” He paused, waiting for nods of assent from the group. Then he took a deep breath and continued. “I've learned a lot this past week, much more than I ever expected. About myself, about the school… teachers… friends… life. And the most important thing of all, I think, is I learned that I've been wrong a great many times. My perceptions, my assumptions, the way I've treated people.” His eyes went to Bahorel, and to Grantaire, and then feeling ashamed, to the rocks at his feet. But after a beat his courage returned, and he looked up at his audience of friends once again. “I know that I've been this way for a long time, so if I have ever treated any of you with a lack of sensitivity and did not see it, please forgive me, and I will be more than willing to speak with you on the matter afterward. And in the case of last week, many of you witnessed something I am not proud of. And that would be our ABC Society dinner. I treated our guest, Grantaire, with little compassion or understanding, and I very much regret and apologize for the things I said to him, to you, Grantaire,” he said, his gaze returning to look at him.

Grantaire was shaking his head with concern, signaling Enjolras to stop, that he didn't need to say this. But Enjolras averted his eyes and pressed on. “And while we have discussed it privately I wanted you all to know how sorry I am that I ruined what could have been a wonderful evening.”

“Enj, it wasn't just you-” Grantaire attempted to interrupt, but Enjolras held up his hand.

“No, please. It's alright. Even with other factors, my actions were wrong. The fault lies with me, and I'm taking responsibility for what happened.” Looking out at his friends, only Grantaire and Combeferre knew what _had_ happened, and why the meeting had to be kept secret. But he didn't have the heart to bring up the club suspension, not even now. Not only was the future still uncertain, but the news of a possible disbandment would certainly overshadow what he was about to do.

“I believe I inherited an attitude from our former club leaders that I now want to put an end to. The idea that students need to fit a perfect mold before they can be accepted. Because a student can't always be perfect. But they can be willing, and loving, and smart, and deserve a place beside us all the same.” He smiled wistfully at Grantaire. “We don't need a set of rigid interview questions, we need to simply talk to interested students. Tell them what we're about and if they still want to join, let them. There's been a system in place for years but who is holding us to that now? It is up to us to decide how our society should be. We don't need to look for the perfect match. Anyone can be the right fit. Are we in agreement?”

“Aye,” Combeferre said loudly, and a few others echoed him.

“But what if there are students looking to take advantage of us?” Courfeyrac asked, concerned. “Those who would sign up just to eat our food, who don't even care?”

“I'm not saying we throw out all sense of judgement,” Enjolras said gently. “I'm just proposing open-hearted acceptance. Take the grade requirement, for example. Grades aren't a measure of spirit. I'm certain there are solid B and C students that still want to make an impact on this world.”

“That would make our club title more apt,” Bossuet said thoughtfully. “The ABC Society, not just for A students anymore.”

“And so what if a student has a philosophy unlike our own? What if he is more cynical? Will we not benefit from discussion, or seeing things from a different point of view?” Enjolras continued, looking over at Grantaire again, who seemed to be hiding a smile. “People can be as varied and beautiful as art. Maybe... one style isn't necessarily better than another. Maybe we have a lot to learn from what we don’t know or understand. I’m not saying we need to go invite all of Patron-Minette to our next dinner,” he added. Bahorel bit his lip, looking down at the rocks. “But we should listen carefully to anyone who comes to us wanting to join.”

His friends nodded, Courfeyrac finally agreeing as well.

“Since we started school here, only the nine of us have been accepted from our year. Nine. I used to think of it as a badge of honor, but... if we really do want to go out there and change the world, shouldn’t there be more of us? Shouldn’t we have more voices, more people who want to make a difference?” He paused, taking a breath, as the wind softly rustled the trees. “Starting now, there will be.” Enjolras looked over to Grantaire hopefully. “I know that I may not have given you the best impression, Grantaire, but if... if…”

Grantaire didn’t seem to be listening. He was looking down, suddenly leaning towards the water with arm outstretched. His hand dipped past the surface, swiping something up among the rocks.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said in exasperation, turning on his flashlight and shining the beam on him. “I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Sorry!” Grantaire said, looking up, caught in the spotlight. Something white was in his hand. “I-I just… I found… uh, keep going,” he stuttered, clearing his throat. “I’m listening.”

“Come up here,” Enjolras said, beckoning him over.

Grantaire pushed up off his rock and came over, shoes crunching through the pebbles on the shore. As he walked up beside him, he placed what he had found in Enjolras’s hand, flashing a guilty smile at him.

Enjolras checked under the beam of light, and saw what it was. A wet playing card, the missing red joker from Grantaire's deck. It had been floating in the lake. He tried not to laugh, remembering their waterlogged date on Friday night and how the card must have made its escape. Then he tried to remember what he had been saying, considering they still had a waiting audience. “I... I wanted to ask you, Grantaire,” he started again, clicking off the flashlight and speaking loud enough so they all could hear. “To join us, right now. An official member of the ABC Society.”

“No interview?” Grantaire asked lightly, though there was a vulnerability in his voice.

“No. No formalities. None of that. I know you now. And hopefully many of you know, or will know,” he said, looking out at the others, “that Grantaire is a generous, kind, and loving person, and he certainly deserves a place among us. If you’ll have us,” Enjolras said quickly, glancing back at Grantaire. “I know I didn’t give you the best impression of our club but I promise you, our next dinner will be… wonderful…” he said, trailing off at the mention of a next time that he didn’t even know would happen. “And... and we’ll put your favorite food on the menu, and-”

“Hey,” Grantaire said, tugging softly at Enjolras’s scarf to interrupt him. “I’ll have you,” he said with a smile.

Enjolras smiled back. “You will?”

“Yeah. I want to join,” Grantaire nodded, looking at him fondly. “Let me in.”

“Alright,” Enjolras said, forgetting for the moment that his club was suspended. “Are we all in agreement?” he asked the others eagerly.

“Aye,” they called, Bahorel’s voice the loudest.

“Then I hereby dub thee,” Enjolras said, turning and playfully slapping the red joker to Grantaire's chest, holding it over his heart. “An official member of the ABC Society here at Corinthe.”

Grantaire grinned wider, placing his hand on top of Enjolras's, keeping it over his heart for a few beats as the rest of the ABC Society applauded. “Thank you,” he said sincerely before releasing him, keeping the card for his own and slipping it into his pocket.

“Ten,” Enjolras said proudly, turning back to the group. “Ten seniors now.”

“Huzzah!” Courfeyrac shouted, and they all came up to embrace Grantaire in welcome.

They stayed on the shore for half an hour, the boys gathered excitedly around Grantaire, telling him about all the exciting kinds of activities the ABC Society had done over the past three years. Then it grew colder, and it was time to head back to the dorms to make sure they were in by curfew. As they walked around the lake once more, Enjolras started to trail behind the rest of the group. With each step he took away from their meeting spot, the more he felt as if he had just made a terrible mistake. He had spoken to them about the bright new future of the ABC Society and yet there might not be a future for the club at all. Had he lied to them all by pretending everything was going to be okay?

He had called the meeting that night to make sure that the ABC Society had a new direction even if he was kicked out of school tomorrow. Surely Combeferre would take his place and fight for the club’s continuation, if Enjolras couldn't be there to see it through. But should he have waited one day more to find out for himself what fate would bring, before he let them believe everything was okay? _No,_ he thought. _I might not get a second chance. But I've got to hope, I've got to-_

“I'm worried I'll disappoint you.”

“Hm?” Enjolras was pulled from his thoughts, realizing that Grantaire had dropped back from the group to walk beside him.

“Your club is meant for people planning to make a difference in the world. I'm not sure I could.”

“You already have,” Enjolras said, meeting his gaze. “You've made a difference to me.” He wished he could have held Grantaire's hand right there, even with his friends around. Instead, he kept his hands in his coat pockets, balling them up to refrain from doing so.

Grantaire gave him a small smile, humbled, and tucked his chin into his scarf in silent contemplation.

Enjolras walked beside him, retreating back into his thoughts. _There is something else I want to do, if this is my last night here with you,_ he said in his mind, wishing it were easy to say to Grantaire. _If this is goodbye..._

When they arrived at the dorms, the ABC Society went their separate ways. As they walked into their room, Grantaire took out the jester card from his pocket. Instead of returning it to the deck, though, he held it up and taped it beside his Hamlet drawing, another moment commemorated on the wall. “Who'd have thought I'd find him out there, huh?” Grantaire said, impressed.

“It slipped out of the box when the boat capsized?” Enjolras asked as he took off his coat and scarf.

“Must have,” Grantaire agreed, removing his shoes. “That was a lucky find.”

Enjolras came closer and tugged on Grantaire's scarf. “So you must be feeling lucky tonight, then,” he said casually, letting his words hang in the air.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, letting out a nervous laugh. “Be careful, your mother made this,” he said, extracting the scarf from Enjolras’s grasp. “Did you get all your work done?”

Enjolras nodded, looking up at him intently. “Do you think we could just get in bed, if you don't mind?”

Grantaire paused, considering, looking up at the ceiling as if he were trying to remember any outstanding homework that he had left. Then he shrugged. “Alright.”

They took turns washing up in the bathroom, and Enjolras returned to his bed, dropping his pants and crawling under the sheets in his sweater and underwear. He didn't bother with pajamas, certain that the rest was about to come off.

Grantaire emerged from the bathroom in his boxers. “You want me over there, right?” he asked, pointing to Enjolras's bed, just to make sure.

“Yes,” Enjolras said, making room for him. He had the words he wanted to say at the tip of his tongue, but watched mutely as Grantaire made for the lightswitch, darkness settling over the room. He felt the mattress depress as Grantaire climbed into bed beside him, pulling him into his arms. Enjolras wrapped his leg around him and began to kiss him without hesitation, a belated congratulations now that Grantaire had officially been inducted.

Grantaire gave a happy groan, combing Enjolras's hair back with his fingers. “You're eager,” he pointed out, as Enjolras moved to kiss his neck.

Enjolras raised his lips to his ear, exhaling a warm breath before he managed to say it. “I'm ready. Tonight.”

It took Grantaire a moment before he stilled in shock. He swallowed audibly and gently pushed Enjolras back to have a look at him. “Tonight? You mean you want to… have sex?”

Enjolras nodded, his heart beating nervously as he realized Grantaire’s tone wasn't exactly joyous. “Do you not want to anymore?” he asked tentatively, when Grantaire remained silent.

“No, no that's not it,” Grantaire corrected quickly. “It's just that…yesterday you were so worried I would ask you for that. And now suddenly you want to?” He was solemn, holding loosely onto Enjolras's sweater, as if to keep him at bay.

“I… well…” Enjolras started with embarrassment, attempting to sound sure of himself. “I do. I told you that tonight might be even better than the last, didn't I?”

“Enjolras, you don't have to live up to everything you say. I'm happy enough with the past two nights we've had.”

“But...but tonight is different. It's hard to explain."

“You can talk to me, remember?” Grantaire pleaded, his hand on Enjolras's cheek.. “Tell me what you're thinking. Is it different because… I'm an ABC member now?” he asked puzzled.

“No, no!” Enjolras said quickly. “Of course not. But… it's for the same reason why I made you a club member tonight, why it had to be now. Why _this_ should be now,” he said, feeling desperate. Even in the dark it was hard to meet Grantaire's eyes when he said it. “This might be our last night together.”

Grantaire eyebrows drew down in confusion and he shook his head. “No, no. No, Enj. Why do you think that?” Enjolras opened his mouth, but Grantaire remembered the answer before he could speak. “Is this because we have Debate tomorrow?”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I only just remembered today what Javert had said to me, before I left the room. He told me to write an _apology_ letter to him,” he explained, spitting out the word with venom. “I can't. I can't do it, Grantaire. And I was already waiting to hear what Valjean thinks about what happened on Thursday. Javert has enough ammunition against me already and now if I show up without that required apology, well, this might be the end.” He let out a shaking breath.

Grantaire put his hand to Enjolras's cheek. “Enj,” he said firmly. “You have to write that letter.”

“No!” Enjolras protested, attempting to pull his face away in defiance.

“No, _listen._ Listen to me. Have you ever written a paper for class that's complete bullshit?”

Enjolras shook his head.

“No, I guess you wouldn't have,” Grantaire snorted darkly. “But everyone who does knows one fundamental rule. It's better to do _something_ than nothing at all.”

“But what if doing nothing _is_ something?” Enjolras argued. “I want to stand up for myself, Grantaire. I'm not going to apologize to that man.”

“Then write the most bitingly sarcastic letter you can manage. You have time tomorrow. Just…” Grantaire bit his lip, and Enjolras realized he was getting scared too. “Give it a try. You're a wordsmith, aren't you? You'll find something to say.”

“Grantaire-”

“I don't want you to get hurt again.”

Enjolras was struck by the simple reasoning behind his plea. He leaned in, resting his head on Grantaire's neck. “I'll think about it,” he conceded, though he was torn.

“Don't give up,” Grantaire said.

“Even when my only other choice is giving in?” Enjolras asked.

“It's not giving in if you know the truth inside.”

“That doesn't do me any good. Valjean should know the truth.”

“Then get to him first,” Grantaire suggested. “Go at lunch and explain everything.”

That was an idea Enjolras could agree with. He nodded against Grantaire's shoulder. All he had to do was see Valjean before Debate. Then this could all be solved before he ever had to see Javert again.

“You're not going home tomorrow,” Grantaire insisted, stroking his back. “Not over this.”

Enjolras let Grantaire's touch calm him. “What about tonight?” he asked softly. “My offer.”

“...I want you to believe me when I say how much I want to be with you. But not yet. You're scared, Enjolras, with everything up in the air like this. And I don't want you to be scared. I don't want you, either of us, to look back and say that's why we did it. I want it to be a good night for both of us, our first time,” Grantaire explained.

“But what if it really is our last night together?” Enjolras asked, unable to fight the feeling that tomorrow would be his final day at Corinthe.

“I don't think it is, Enj. I really don't,” Grantaire said, shaking his head. “But if that were the case, if you really were expelled tomorrow, they wouldn't haul you off like a criminal. You'd go back to your room to pack, and… and I'd be there, and we could have a proper goodbye then. Even if it was the middle of the day. I'd make certain we got our chance,” he assured him, his fingers running up and down Enjolras back, over his sweater. “But that won't happen.”

Enjolras nodded, wanting to believe him. He wanted to believe that tomorrow everything would right itself again. That Valjean would be understanding. That his name would be cleared, and the ABC Society restored. There was no reversing what Javert had done but maybe somehow Debate would be tolerable again, if only Enjolras knew how. Then he would be at peace with Corinthe again, and content with the love of his friends, and Grantaire by his side. That was all he wanted, though the idea already seemed so fragile.

“Is it okay if I just hold you tonight?” Grantaire asked, nosing into Enjolras's hair.

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed, pulling the blankets up and wrapping his arms around him tighter.

Grantaire kissed him on his forehead, his cheeks, once more on the lips. “Sleep. The sooner you do, the sooner tomorrow will come, and then it will be behind us.”

Enjolras closed his eyes, letting Grantaire's comforting presence anchor his overactive mind. It was just as well they weren't going to stay up any longer. He needed to rest, to save his strength if he wanted to be able to face the next day, whatever would come. “Goodnight,” he whispered, curling up in Grantaire's arms.

“Sweet dreams, Enj.”

Morning came and it seemed as if he had only just closed his eyes. He hadn't any dreams he could remember at all, which seemed a blessing considering his state of mind. He untangled himself from Grantaire's arms to turn off the alarm clock, then gently shook his boyfriend to fully wake him. Grantaire grunted and opened his eyes blinking up at him.

“Today's the day,” Enjolras reminded him.

“Mm. You'll be okay, Enj,” he said, taking his hand. “I believe in you.”

Enjolras smiled weakly. “Thank you, Grantaire. That’s what I needed to hear.”

“Anytime.”

They dressed and went to breakfast as usual, where his friends were bubbling with excitement, unaware of the turmoil going on in Enjolras's mind.

“Tonight!” Courfeyrac announced as he set down his tray at the table. “You better be there!”

If Enjolras hadn't heard the chatter in the breakfast line he would have already forgotten about the football match. He hadn't dedicated much thought to what he would be doing tonight if he didn't get expelled by 4 PM. “Good luck, Courf,” he said, managing a smile, his answer giving no indication of attendance. “I know you'll do great.”

Courfeyrac beamed, and dug into his hearty breakfast. Enjolras looked down at his own, willing himself to pick up the fork again to eat his omelette. He wasn't that hungry, but his plans involved visiting Valjean’s office at lunch. He wasn't sure he'd have a chance to eat again before dinner. _Do expelled students even get one last meal?_ he thought, wondering if he could count on being allowed to eat that evening.

“It's the little things like this that make Monday tolerable,” Jehan said between sips of juice.

“Little?” Courfeyrac sputtered. “This is a pretty big deal, I'd say! It's my first time playing for Corinthe!”

“We're gonna destroy the National Academy,” Bahorel growled gleefully, as the anticipation continued down the table.

“Just keep them away from my goal,” Feuilly said, between bites of toast. “I don't want to be doing _all_ the work.”

“Don't worry!” Bossuet grinned, clapping him on the back. “I've got you covered.”

Enjolras glanced up at his friends, so sure they would see victory tonight. He wanted to borrow their confidence, let their energy become his own in the day ahead. _You will be heard,_ he tried out. _You will prevail, you will be okay. You are a student of Corinthe and the truth will be known._

He was stirred from the mantra as he felt a hand on his leg, beneath the table. Beside him, Grantaire was resting his hand on his thigh, a secret gesture of support. Enjolras slipped his hand beneath the table and intertwined their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze of gratitude. With that, and the energy he had channeled from his friends, he suddenly felt stronger, and sure of himself. It was a glimmer of certainty that aligned with his old self, the person he had been when the school year had started, before his spirit had been ripped from him. But now he was someone else, someone more human, pure and raw and ready to face whatever befell him.

He sat straighter in his chair, feeling an inner peace wash over him, and turned to smile at Grantaire. “Sit next to me at the game tonight?”

Grantaire nodded. “Of course,” he said, squeezing Enjolras’s hand back under the table. “We’ll walk over there together.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras whispered.

When he left the cafeteria for his morning classes, he felt calm. It was a bright sunny day, which hopefully meant a clear night for the football match, and a good omen for Enjolras’s fortune. As he crossed the courtyard from the Great Hall to the academic building, he took his time walking past the flowers, wanting to stop and appreciate the simple beauty of Corinthe, just in case it might be his final morning. But the thought no longer haunted him, and he smiled to himself as he walked past the flowerbed that Grantaire had helped plant on his first detention. Even in his short time here, he had left his mark on the school.

Despite his cool demeanor, which he was able to maintain in Economics, by History he was watching the clock. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked up to watch the minute hand progress closer and closer to twelve. When finally the bell rang, he let out a long breath as if he had been holding it all through class, picked up his bag, and left the academic building.

Determined, he marched all the way to the administration building at the front of campus, up the stone steps and through the columned entranceway. Directly down the hallway that lay before him, Dahlia the receptionist sat at her desk. Enjolras's footsteps echoed on the marble floor as he approached.

“I need to see the headmaster,” he announced as he reached the desk.

“Would you like to make an appointment for tomorrow?” Dahlia asked.

“No, now. It needs to be now,” he said steadily. “Please,” he added, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.

“Well. I don't think that would be possible,” she explained slowly. “Your headmaster has taken the headmaster of the National Academy to lunch. The first football match is today, did you know?”

“When will he be back?” Enjolras asked. His heart felt as if it were plunging into his stomach.

“I don't know. If this is a medical emergency, then you need to go to the nurse. Otherwise I recommend you make an appointment and he'll get to you as soon as he can.”

“Two PM today?” he tried desperately, hoping he could slide it in before Debate.

She shook her head. “As I said, I don't know when he'll be back from his luncheon. Now can I schedule you an appointment for tomorrow?”

Enjolras stood there, considering, then exhaled in resignation. “No.” He had a feeling that whether or not it was on his own terms, he would be seeing Valjean by the end of the school day.

“I suppose it's not all that important, then,” she commented.

He clenched his jaw, and as he walked away, he spotted the telephone beside the little armchair where students could come to call home. Enjolras spun back around. “Can I make a phone call?” he asked plaintively.

Dahlia frowned, realizing something was indeed wrong, even if Enjolras wouldn't make the appointment. She gestured to the phone silently.

Enjolras slipped into the chair and picked up the receiver, spinning the rotary dial and waiting as he heard the phone ringing on the other end. Then someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Mom,” Enjolras breathed out, comforted just to hear her voice.

“You're calling in the middle of the school day, honey, is everything alright?”

Enjolras shook his head silently, but into the phone, he simply said, “I just wanted to thank you, Mom. I got your package on Friday.”

He could hear the relief in her voice. “Oh, I'm so glad. Did you like the slippers?”

“Very much, thank you.”

“What about your roommate? Did you give him the things I put in there for him?”

“I did. He loved them.”

“That's wonderful. So are you two getting along alright?”

“Yes. We are. He's been a good friend to me. Really good. He's important to me, Mom.”

“Well, we'll have to meet him when we come for parents weekend,” she said eagerly.

Enjolras nodded as if she could see, feeling strangely emotional. “Yes. Yes, you should. You will.” His throat was tight. “And he's an ABC member now.”

“Oh! How is the ABC Society going?”

“Just fine.” His voice cracked.

She noticed. “...Honey, are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm not sure,” he answered truthfully.

“Is anything wrong? You know I won't hesitate to make some phone calls.”

Enjolras paused. His parents were a safety net in all of this, he realized. Even if he was expelled, they would certainly raise hell for it. But as tempting as the offer was, he had already made the decision to see this through himself. He was eighteen years old, he was a man now, and he wanted to fight his own battle. In his mind, it was the right thing to do.

“I'm going to take care of this on my own,” he told her. “I don't want you to worry.”

“Are you sure? Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything I can do?”

“Think of me today and send your love,” he said simply.

“Every day. Especially today.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“I want you to call me again when you can. Tell me everything is okay. Will you promise to call me if you're in trouble?”

“I promise,” he said. It was entirely possible she would be getting a call later that day, though perhaps it would be a bit more trouble than she was expecting. “I have to go now, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.”

“Goodbye.” He gently hung up the receiver, and left the administration building.

Once outside, he looked out upon the campus, the sunlit grounds, and took a deep breath. He had no help from Valjean. He had declined help from his mother. He would be facing Javert alone. But what to do?

It was still lunch hour, and while he had time to go to the Great Hall, the cacophony of sound in the cafeteria would drown out his ability to think. Instead, his footsteps led him to the library, quiet and empty at this time of day. He sat down at a table on the second floor, facing the windows that overlooked the courtyard quadrangle. Folding his hands in front of him, he stared out at the grounds, considering his next move.

He supposed that he could fall back on his original plan, which was to show up to Debate with no letter in hand and let Javert drag him to the office. Then at least he would get a chance to speak to Valjean, but with Javert most likely at his side, it would be difficult to get in a word. _But that's really all you can do,_ he reminded himself. _Not unless you want to apologize to Javert._ The thought made him shudder.

Up until now, had had always considered himself a resourceful student. But ever since the school year had started, he had been faced with so many situations that made him feel helpless, he wasn't sure anymore. There wasn't some secret to unlock that would make everything right itself. He was stuck. He thought of Grantaire begging him to write the letter. _It’s better to do something than nothing at all._ He considered this, his eyes narrowed as he imagined the outcome of that possibility. A path of least resistance, even if every fiber of his being was resistant to the idea.

It finally caught up to his stomach that he was missing lunch, and it gave a growl of complaint. He leaned over to open his bag, hoping he had slipped some of his sweets inside for snacks. But he found himself distracted by the antique quill pen he had bought the week before, tucked safely in an inside pocket.

He drew it out, running the soft feather through his fingers. It was a secondhand pen, and Enjolras would have liked to believe it was already imbued with the grand life story of its previous owner. A lucky pen. When he bought it, he imagined he would save it for special occasions, and use to pen essays of great significance.

He stared at it, contemplating. _And how significant is this moment?_ he wondered. _What would I be accomplishing, if I were to do as Grantaire asked?_ He sat there for a long time, the idea of a snack forgotten, mulling over the choice he had to make as he idly spun the feather in his fingers

But then his thoughts turned to his friends, and the way they made him feel powerful that morning. The way they longed to go out and fight for their team in the name of Corinthe. He thought of Grantaire who had offered him comfort and support, who would be there in class today. He would not be alone.

And suddenly his resolve renewed, and a clear picture of what he was meant to do came to his mind. Resolutely, he reached into his bag to retrieve his notebook and ink, and opening up to a blank page, he began to write his letter of apology. _Let’s hope you’re a lucky pen after all,_ he thought, as he touched nib to page and the ink began to flow.

When it was done, almost half an hour later, he sat back in his chair, putting the quill down with finality. He made sure the letter was dry before he folded it neatly, closing it safely inside his notebook, and slipped it into his bag with his writing supplies. Then he left the library, lunch period over, and headed across campus to his literature class.

This time he had finished the reading, and knew how to answer all of Tholomyes’s questions about Phoebus and his fateful encounter with Esmeralda at the inn. Enjolras was so relieved to have caught up with the day’s lesson that he almost forgot what was coming next. He was writing down the next assignment posted up on the chalkboard when he gave pause, wondering as the bell rang if he would ever complete the homework given to him today, given the possible circumstances. _No matter,_ he thought, closing his assignment book. _What matters is whatever happens right now._

He rose, packing up his things, and he was shortly joined by Joly, Marius, and Jehan, who were coming into the classroom for next period’s literature class. Marius leaned in close to whisper to Enjolras. “No pop quiz today, right?” he asked.

“No, no surprises,” he said loud enough for the other two to hear, nodding knowingly. “No need to worry.” He patted Marius on the shoulder, feeling almost as if he were reassuring himself that the next class would be a perfectly ordinary one, despite everything. He shouldered his bag, waving goodbye as he headed out of the classroom.

Out in the hall, he stopped on his way to the stairs as he came upon the group of senior footballers, Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Feuilly, chattering excitedly in a huddle. Enjolras placed a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder to get his attention. “If I don't get the chance to tell you later, good luck everyone,” he said, smiling.

“You too!” Courfeyrac said automatically. “I mean, thanks!” he said, laughing at his mistake.

“Hey, I'll take it,” Enjolras said, backing away with a sly grin. “I think I might need it.” When he turned towards the staircase his expression sobered. As he ascended the stairs, Combeferre came around the corner of the landing on his way down.

“Did you see Valjean yet about you-know-what?” Combeferre asked, his mind clearly on the ABC Society after last night's meeting.

“Soon,” Enjolras said, gently touching Combeferre's arm for assurance as they crossed paths. Combeferre paused as if he expected more of a conversation, but Enjolras continued up the stairs, looking back over his shoulder. “See you at the game, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Combeferre called up. “See you, Enj.”

Enjolras reached the top of the stairs, and saw the open door of the debate classroom ahead of him. He crossed the hallway and looked cautiously inside, from a distance. Javert was sitting at his desk, eyes cast downward on whatever he was reading. In the front row of seats, Grantaire sat upright and alert in his chair near the window, watching the door. He started when he saw Enjolras, and mouthed “Valjean?”

Enjolras shook his head.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, and quickly mimed writing a letter with a questioning look.

Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire put his hand to his heart, playing up a silent sigh of relief and gave him a thumbs up. _Oh, Grantaire,_ Enjolras thought, giving him a small smile. Grantaire was only trying to look out for him. It was endearing, even though he had the wrong idea.

Enjolras straightened, holding his head up high, and taking a deep breath he stepped into the classroom. He headed towards the desk next to Grantaire, which brought him closer to the teacher’s desk, though he kept his eyes focused on the empty seat. Despite his fears telling him to hide and sit at the back of the classroom, he would not be intimidated, he would not show weakness. He crossed in front of the teacher’s desk, and as he turned to his seat he saw Grantaire eyes widen just before he felt the jerk at his collar. He was pulled back a step, but he caught himself with his heel, keeping his balance.

“I believe you have something for me?” Javert asked, his hand closed around the back of Enjolras’s blazer.

Enjolras kept his eyes forward, refusing to look back at him. “If you'll let me sit down, sir, I can take out what I need for class,” he said calmly. A beat later the pressure on his collar lifted, and Javert backed off with a grumble. Enjolras let out his breath and quickly maneuvered into his seat, exchanging a quick glance with Grantaire.

Slowly, with dignity, Enjolras reached down into his bag and pulled out his notebook, setting it carefully on the desk before him as the other students filed in. Montparnasse sat down behind Grantaire, keeping his mouth shut. It seemed he too was watching and waiting to see what Javert would do. Javert was back at his desk, eyes darting around the room as he took attendance by silent observation.

Enjolras looked down at his notebook, the letter tucked safely inside. He thought of what he had written at lunch, and what consequences would result from this. What path would these words send him down? There would be no way to take back what was about to be said. But did he want to take it back, now that he had finally-

He didn't have time to finish his thought, for looking up from his notebook he saw Javert standing over him once more, holding out his hand. Enjolras swallowed, and reaching into his notebook, he slipped out the letter, looking Javert in the eye as he handed it over. Javert snatched it up, giving Enjolras's careful penmanship a cursory glance as he turned away, and carelessly set it face down on the teacher's desk. _Oh,_ Enjolras thought in surprise, eyes on the fateful piece of paper. It was clear Javert hadn’t actually read what was on the page, and perhaps he wouldn't until after class. _Well then._ This made it easier, he could go straight to Valjean's office after the bell before Javert had a chance to read it through.

He let out a breath, sinking lower into his seat, and glanced over at Grantaire once more. Grantaire gave him a faint smile and a nod, as if to assure him it was over. _It’s not,_ Enjolras corrected in his head. _This isn't over, but it's out of my hands._ He brushed his hair back from his face and reached down to take out his notecards, ready to get back to work on their group project.

Javert cleared his throat. “Now that you're all here,” he began. “You will continue to work in your groups for the first debate on Wednesday. You should be practicing your arguments amongst yourselves today, a rehearsal for what you will officially present to me.”

Enjolras was separating the notecards between his own arguments and the notes he had taken for Grantaire and Montparnasse, setting them in two small piles on his desk.

“I expect each debate to last at least fifteen minutes so time yourselves to make sure you have enough to say. Now, before we begin, I'd like to address a small matter. I believe all of you were present for an incident that occurred at the end of class last Thursday.”

Enjolras's heart clenched, and he slowly looked up at Javert, who was gazing out at the other students as if he were ignoring Enjolras in particular.

“I would like to remind everyone that such behavior on behalf of a student is completely unacceptable, and certain measures of discipline will be enacted should you choose to conduct yourself in such a manner.”

In the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw Grantaire sit up attentively, bristling. _Remain calm,_ he thought, though he wasn't sure if he was addressing Grantaire or himself.

“As such, I must ask Enjolras to come up here,” Javert continued, finally turning his gaze upon him.

Enjolras froze, his eyes widening. He didn't move.

“I have asked him to prepare a letter to address the issue, and I think it is only fitting to let him read it for the benefit of the class, considering his behavior in front of all of you on Thursday.”

Enjolras blinked. He could have laughed. Was Javert really asking him to read what he had written out loud?

“Come up here, Enjolras. Why the trepidation? You had no problem volunteering on our first day, don't be shy now," Javert said mockingly.

Enjolras held back a smirk. It was so absurd it was amusing _You're really going to let me say this in front of everyone? ...Fine._ He slowly rose from his chair, Grantaire watching with concern. He was right to worry, Enjolras knew there was no going back from this. _At least I can spread this message,_ he thought as he stepped away from his desk. _It won't be forgotten._ He reached Javert, standing beside the teacher's desk, who swept up the letter and held it out, gesturing to the podium. Enjolras took the letter in hand, his heartbeat shockingly calm. He walked up to the podium as if in a dream, setting the paper in front of him and smoothing it out. _Let it not be said I went down without a fight._

“Monsieur Javert,” Enjolras began, reading from the sheet. His eyes darted just for a moment to his teacher.

Javert leaned back casually on the edge of his desk, as if he were settling in for an entertaining story, though he kept his arms stiffly crossed.

Enjolras turned his eyes back to the page, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “I am writing this letter to express an apology,” he began, making sure he projected each word. “When I arrived at the beginning of the month for my senior year here at Corinthe, you might say I was a different person. I am known to be set in my ways, and to a fault I was unable to view the world from a perspective outside my own experience. But due to recent events that have shaken my life, my point of view has opened up, and I can see more clearly than ever what lies before me. In my previous experience, I was convinced that no matter the faults of our school, we were still receiving the best education there is to be had. And now, thanks to your actions, Monsieur Javert, I realize that this is untrue.”

He paused for breath. Students were exchanging glances. Javert remained still, though he had tilted his head to the side as if he wasn't sure he had heard what Enjolras had said. Not wasting another moment, Enjolras returned to the letter.

“In years past, we as students have heard the warnings about you and your classes. Monsieur Javert is difficult, Monsieur Javert is strict, don't let Inspector Javert catch you breaking the rules. Yet those of us who signed up for your classes even so seemed to take it as a challenge. ‘I can handle it, I'm not scared.’ Now that I have experienced firsthand your particular methods of discipline, I feel that I must apologize. Not to you, Monsieur Javert, but to any student who came before me who felt your wrath and was afraid to speak up. To those who tried to warn against you, and were not heard.”

He stole a sidelong glance at Javert, who was gritting his teeth. But he had yet to interrupt, so Enjolras bravely continued on. “As I mentioned day one of this class, the fatal flaw here at Corinthe is the unregulated system of discipline. Teachers have full authority to decide how to handle a student, and you, Javert, have chosen corporal punishment. Even for a small offense,” he pressed on, his eyes indicating Grantaire, “you will push a student far beyond what is acceptable to a point of physical pain, disrupting his ability to complete his assignments. I myself was unable to attend classes after what was done to me. I ask you, do you truly believe a teacher should use discipline to actively hinder a student from their academic studies? Should a teacher use their authority to hurt their students, and make them fearful of attending class?”

Enjolras looked at Javert defiantly, wondering why he hadn't been stopped.

“Well?” Javert asked testily. “Is that all?” He was mocking him again.

“Not quite,” Enjolras said, jaw tensing. He looked out at the students, who apppeared to be on the edge of their seats. Grantaire’s hands were clasped in front of his mouth. Enjolras's eyes went back to the letter. “A student is meant to obey his teacher, but I cannot and will not apologize to you. A teacher who abuses his students is no teacher at all. You rely on your power of authority to protect you but you are nothing but a bully, Monsieur Javert. And there is nothing more to say to you.” He folded the finished letter and gazed out at the students. “To the rest of you,” he addressed them, improvising, his voice growing louder. “Age is not a measure of wisdom. Be perceptive and question the practices of your teachers. You do not have to sit idly by and subject yourself to authoritarian misconduct, especially when your families are paying their very salaries. Remember to speak up, speak out, against this kind of treatment in the classroom, because _if_ we remain complacent, _if_ we stay silent, this _injustice_ will continue to-”

Suddenly, Enjolras felt the letter being snatched from his fingers, his audience letting out a collective gasp. _Rrriiiiiiiip._ He looked up to see Javert standing next to him, the pieces of his carefully penned letter falling to the ground.

“I do not accept your lack of apology,” Javert growled dangerously.

Enjolras drew his brows down, unafraid. “And I do not accept your tyranny, Javert.”

“How _dare_ you address me like that, you little brat!” Javert said, taking one step closer, looming over him.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Enjolras said plainly, staring him down. “But how can I respectfully address someone who has lost all my respect?”

Javert’s eyes flashed. That was enough. He lunged forward, closing his large hand around Enjolras’s arm in a vise-like grip. “Everyone out,” he barked. “ _Now!_ ”

Enjolras jerked his shoulders, trying to wriggle out of Javert's grasp. “Let go of me,” he hissed.

 _”Quiet!”_ Javert snapped, giving Enjolras a hard shake. He looked up at the class again. “I said out!”

The students rose nervously from their seats, exchanging glances. Some began to head for the door, though they remained hunched over as if to tip-toe their way out, and some scrambled for their bags. Just as the first boy reached for the doorknob, there was a loud scraping of a chair on the floor, and a voice spoke out. _“I'm not going anywhere.”_

Enjolras and Javert both turned their heads to see Grantaire standing beside his chair, fists clenched. “I won't,” he growled. “I stand right here with Enjolras.”

The students at the door turned to stare.

 _“Fine,”_ Javert hissed. “You can stay and everyone _else_ can leave. If you share his opinions you will share in his punishment.”

“Grantaire, _no,”_ Enjolras warned, renewing his struggle to free himself. “Leave me, I can handle this!”

Grantaire ignored Enjolras's plea, taking a step closer. “No. I won't run away while this _coward_ holds you hostage.”

 _“What_ did you say?” Javert demanded, yanking Enjolras around as he faced Grantaire.

“You heard me, old man,” Grantaire said. He bared his teeth in a grimace that was almost a smile. “Coward. That’s all you are.”

 _What are you doing, Grantaire?_ Enjolras thought desperately. But then he realized, it was quite clear what he was doing. He was trying to distract Javert from Enjolras.

Javert reached behind his desk for the cane, without even tearing his eyes away from Grantaire. “You can be first, if you’re so brave, then.” He seemed to have forgotten the students who were gathered near the door, watching in awe as he stepped closer to Grantaire, dragging Enjolras with him. “We’ll see who is the coward when I’m through with you.”

“Try me,” Grantaire said, standing tall.

Enjolras suddenly found himself being shoved aside by Javert, and before he knew what was happening, as he nearly stumbled into the teacher’s desk, he heard a loud _crack_. The students gasped. “Grantaire!” Enjolras cried, spinning around, only to be shocked by what he saw. Grantaire had wrested the cane from Javert’s grip and snapped it unceremoniously, loudly, over his knee. There he stood defiantly, throwing the splintered halves to the ground.

“Why you _insolent_ little…” Javert grabbed him by the lapels, but Grantaire elbowed him hard in the ribs, slipping out of his grasp, and ran.

“Can't hide behind your stick now!” Grantaire called. He dodged between the students blocking the door, who stepped away in fear as Javert came barreling towards them, clearing the path. Grantaire looked over his shoulder, then turned the doorknob and burst out of the classroom, heading for the stairs, Javert tailing after him in pursuit.

Enjolras was near frozen, heart beating wildly. Heavy footsteps echoed down the stairway as Javert chased Grantaire to the first floor. The students began to panic, whispering anxiously, their wide eyes moving from the empty doorway over to Enjolras, standing alone. He had caused this, his letter an explosive that had sent the classroom into a fiery tumult. _This wasn't supposed to happen…_

“Over here!” Montparnasse called. He stood by the window, the only other student who hadn't fled for the door. “Look!” He pointed down to the ground.

Enjolras ran to the window, fingers pressing against the glass. Grantaire ran from the academic building, crossing the grassy lawn, with Javert closely behind. The old man was catching up to him. The rest of the class hurried to the window, nearly pushing each other over to get a good view.

“What does he think he's doing?” Montparnasse said, awestruck. “He can't run from this!”

Grantaire made it across the street to the courtyard, looking over his shoulder again warily. A fatal misstep, for looking back slowed him down, and before he could regain speed to dart away it was too late. Javert caught him by the arm, jerking him backward, reining him in. And then, it happened so quickly, though time seemed to slow down... Grantaire spun around furiously, his free arm reeled back, hand clenched tight, and with an impact Enjolras could feel from the second floor debate classroom, his practiced fist slammed right into Javert’s face.

Enjolras's mouth fell open. A few of the students screamed. “Oh my _god_ ,” Montparnasse gasped beside Enjolras, as they looked on in horror. Javert swayed, wobbling unsteadily on his feet, stumbling backward, and then, slowly, heavily, he fell flat on his back on the courtyard lawn.

 _“No,”_ Enjolras whispered. He has spent so long agonizing over what would happen in Debate that Monday, yet no part of him had imagined this. Nor had he imagined that Grantaire would fling himself so recklessly into the fray.

Javert didn't move. He was out cold.

Grantaire was panting, and he looked up, right into the debate classroom windows, spotting Enjolras and meeting his gaze. He sent a half-hearted salute up to him, a grim expression on his face. He knew what he had done, and he knew what was going to happen next.

 _You once wanted a one-way ticket out of Corinthe,_ Enjolras thought sadly. _Here it is._ There was no question how this would be punished. He had assaulted a teacher. Grantaire would be expelled.

“Who's going to play Hamlet _now?”_ Montparnasse whined sadly, the same sort of thoughts clearly on his mind, but Enjolras was backing away. He spun on his heel and ran, taking the stairs two, three at a time to get down to the first floor. Ahead, he saw Monsieur Tholomyes running down the hall to the double doors in the entranceway, the debate classroom not the only one that had a clear view of the incident. Enjolras sprinted to catch up, slipping through the doors as they closed behind the teacher.

Sister Simplice was running across the courtyard lawn, yelling wildly, her habit streaming out behind her. Enjolras followed Tholomyes down the front steps, and behind him another teacher and a few students had emerged from the building. Grantaire looked around him at the commotion he had caused as if he were in a daze. Sister Simplice fell down onto the grass by Javert, checking his pulse and slapping at his cheeks. Grantaire backed away, suddenly finding himself taken in hand by Tholomyes. Monsieur Gribier approached to flank his other side, and together the two teachers held him captive at each elbow.

“Get the nurse!” Sister Simplice yelped at the nearby students as she knelt by Javert.

“C’mon, you,” Tholomyes growled, jostling the prisoner.

Grantaire looked up and suddenly saw Enjolras there on the sidewalk. He smiled sadly, apologetically. “I'm sorry, Enj. I just wanted to protect y-”

“Quiet!” Gribier snapped, and looked to Tholomyes. “Let's get him out of here.”

It was too late to say anything else. The teachers were dragging him away towards the administration building, his heels scraping in the grass until he managed to regain his footing.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras called desperately, taking a few steps forward, his body yearning to follow. _You promised it wouldn't be like this… you promised we could say goodbye..._

Grantaire looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and then Enjolras was certain his lips mouthed the words _I love you._

_You… you do?_

Enjolras stopped and stared, shocked anew as he watched Grantaire being taken away from him. He was vaguely aware of the curious students gathered around the fallen Javert, distant murmurings in the courtyard, Sister Simplice barking at them to back away and get back to class. Then he came to his senses and ran. “Stop!” he called to Grantaire's captors, starting to catch up. “Stop, please! Wait!”

“Stay away, Enjolras,” Tholomyes said sharply. “This doesn't concern you.”

“But it's my fault!” he exclaimed. “It was because of me. I did this! Take me instead!”

Tholomyes shot him a look. “I saw it happen with my own two eyes, Enjolras, who are you trying to fool?”

“No, I mean, in class, t-there was a letter, I made him angry… I...” he sputtered, stumbling over his words.

“Go back, Enjolras.” This time it was Grantaire. _“I_ did this. Don't come with me.”

“But Grantaire-”

“Enjolras!” Tholomyes shouted impatiently.

Enjolras stopped, shaking his head in disbelief, helpless all over again. He had wanted to stand up for himself, had even begun to feel at peace with falling on his sword as long as it meant he could speak his mind. But he hadn't considered Grantaire's penchant for the unpredictable, that his letter would fuel a fire inside him. He was still staring, watching until Grantaire and his escorts disappeared behind the administration building. Then he fell on his knees in the grass and drew in a long painful breath, trying to process what had just happened.

There was nothing he could do. There wasn't a plan to form, or a way to get out of this. Javert had been knocked out cold in plain sight of half the school. It wasn't an accident this time, Grantaire's intention was entirely deliberate and his aim was true. _Grantaire, why did you have to defend me?_ he thought, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, wishing there was a way to go back and start all over. Wishing he could have written a real apology like any normal student and done what he was told. Or skipped class and waited for Valjean to deal with him afterward. Or told his mother what had happened and let her sort it out. Instead his attempt at solving the problem himself had ended in unimaginable disaster.

A touch at his shoulder nearly made him jump. He looked up to see Montparnasse standing over him. “That was impressive.”

Enjolras gave a bitter laugh and wiped at his eyes. “Please, don't.”

“No, I'm serious. Your letter. That took some guts.” Montparnasse came around to face him. Not only was he holding his own bag, but Enjolras's and Grantaire's as well. “I thought you might want these, seeing as we’re not exactly going to resume today’s lesson.” He held out a hand to help Enjolras up.

“Th-thanks,” Enjolras said, accepting it. He rose and took the bags from Montparnasse, shouldering his own and holding Grantaire's to his chest. “I shouldn't have done it. I never meant for all this. I didn't mean for Grantaire to get in trouble.”

“Who knew he had it in him? How did he even do that?”

“He's a boxer,” Enjolras answered, his voice hollow.

“Oh,” Montparnasse nodded slowly. “I guess he’ll have to go to a different school now. One for... troubled kids.”

“A reform school?” Enjolras asked, eyes widening. He had forgotten about that part. This wouldn't just send Grantaire back home, this would require disciplinary measures beyond Corinthe.

“Yeah. My brother goes to a real nice one though,” Montparnasse said, his lips twitching in a bittersweet smile.

Enjolras swallowed and nodded. He hadn't known about that.

“And... and you and I will be just a group of two, now.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, shaking his head in confusion.

“The debate project.”

“Oh.” Enjolras looked back over his shoulder to the scene of the crime. The crowd was dwindling, though Sister Simplice was still waiting for aid to come. Despite what it seemed, Grantaire had not simply slayed the giant. Javert would most likely be back to work soon enough, in possibly a fouler mood than ever. And he would remember how Enjolras had instigated all of this. “I don't want to think about that,” he said emptily. “I'm going to go lie down, I think.” He turned almost mechanically and headed in the direction of the dorms.

“See you at the game?” Montparnasse called behind him, but Enjolras didn't answer.

When he reached the dorm room, he swung open the door and dropped the bags in surprise. In the center of the room on the wooden floor, the dominoes had been carefully set up in the shape of a heart, all stood up precariously on their edges. _When did… when did you do this?_ He stared, his throat feeling tight, and took a step closer. He lifted his foot, and gently knocked the point of the heart over with the toe of his shoe. The dominoes fell in a line, one by one flattening the heart to the floor. Then the dominoes stilled, and Enjolras let out a deep breath. Perhaps Grantaire had meant for it to comfort him at the end of the day, a sign to show him everything had turned out alright, that they were still together. If so, his preemptive efforts had been in vain. Enjolras angrily swept the dominoes aside with his foot, sending them scattering across the floorboards.

He immediately regretted the destruction, an unrecognizable sound of despair emitting from his throat. _Grantaire..._ He looked over at his bed, the bed he had been so outraged by when it was brought into his room. Now it would be empty, and Enjolras would be alone in the room again, an idea that had long lost its appeal.

He lay down on Grantaire's bed, curling up on top of the blanket, and pulled the pillow over to his face. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent that had once driven him wild. Now it only made him tear up, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. He had cried enough for a lifetime since the beginning of the school year. Would he even get to see him again? Would Grantaire be allowed to come back and claim his things? Or would his parents have to come by for them instead?

He looked up at the wall above him, where Grantaire had hung up his two pieces of memorabilia from his short time at Corinthe. The first was the Hamlet drawing on the back of the auditions flyer, crumpled and straightened out once more for display. It was the first time Grantaire had seemed genuinely happy at Corinthe, when Enjolras told him he got the part. He had been so proud, his smile so broad and bright. Next to it now hung the playing card, the joker lost in the lake and repurposed as a symbol of Grantaire's induction into the ABC Society. So fitting that it had been red. As much as Grantaire had ragged on the club before, Enjolras could tell that it meant a lot to him to become a part of it, wearing the scarf Enjolras's mother had lovingly made around his neck.

And on the other side of the room, above Enjolras's bed, hung Grantaire's drawing of Enjolras beneath the statue of Lamarque, torn from the sketchbook that he had gifted him. It was Grantaire's offering of admiration, a hint Enjolras had not understood until he recognized and returned his affection. Looking back, he wished so badly that he had known then, that he hadn't been so afraid. Maybe then he would have gotten to spend more time with Grantaire, before it was too late.

_Too late…_

He sat up.

 _Was_ it too late? Something was happening _right now_ in that administration building. How could he take it lying down, how could he give up so soon? Hadn't he spent the past few days waiting for the opportunity to get into the very office that Grantaire was in now?

He jumped up from the bed, barely pausing to lock up the room before running down the hallway to the stairs. Down, down, and then out into the sunlight. The courtyard was clear, and Javert had been carted away to the nurse's office, no doubt. There was no denying what had just happened, what everyone had witnessed here in the courtyard, but wasn't there another side to the story? Wasn't this what Enjolras had been nearly begging to talk to Valjean about all along?

Enjolras ran across the school grounds, his feet flying over grass, street, and sidewalk as he made straight for the administration building, reaching the front entrance in record time. The grand columns rose above him ominously as he leapt up the stone steps and pushed through the doors, and the marble foyer beyond echoed loudly with each footstep, announcing his presence.

Dahlia stood up from her desk, already protesting Enjolras's wild approach. “The headmaster is busy right n- hey!” she shouted as Enjolras ran right past her, grabbing the handle of Valjean’s office door. “You can't go in!”

But Enjolras slammed his hip into the door and burst into the office as it gave way. Grantaire yelped in fright and jumped up from the chair in front of Valjean’s desk. Valjean was half out of his seat as well, looking entirely shocked and perplexed by the interruption. “Enjolras!?”

“Please, sir!” Enjolras started, panting as he came up to the desk beside Grantaire. “Before you make anything final please just listen to me, it's important!”

Grantaire's wide eyes were on him, his mouth half open.

Valjean was caught between nodding and shaking his head, holding up his hand, but Enjolras had gone too far to be silenced. “What happened today is not Grantaire's fault, but mine!” he continued hastily.

“No! Enjolras-” Grantaire tried to interrupt but Enjolras pressed on.

“It was my letter that angered Monsieur Javert, my disobedience. I violated my behavioral probation. None of this would have happened if I had done as Javert asked. And Grantaire,” Enjolras looked over at him, taking Grantaire's hand firmly in his own before turning back to Valjean. “Grantaire was only standing up for me, for what Javert did and was going to do again.”

“Enj…” Grantaire whispered, his tone resigned. But Enjolras wasn't ready to give up.

“Last week I was severely corporally punished on false charges and today I chose to protest that. And when Javert once again planned to discipline me in this manner, Grantaire came to my aid. I beg you to understand, sir, that Grantaire's actions were not entirely unfounded. I know we cannot change what has been seen and done, but I beg you, let him stay.”

“Enjolras…” Valjean began with exasperation.

“Please-” Enjolras tried to cut back in.

I have already decided-”

“A-and if you do expel Grantaire today then...then you must expel me too!” Enjolras insisted, hardly knowing he was going to say it, but realizing in that moment he meant it, “I love this school more than anything, but I will not return to my room alone knowing that it was my actions that sent Grantaire home. I stand with him as he stood for me, and if you must-”

 _“Enjolras!”_ Valjean shouted.

Enjolras shut his mouth, squeezing Grantaire's hand as he braced for impact. This was it, and Grantaire was beside him, their hands clasped together as Enjolras waited for the final blow.

“No one is getting expelled,” the headmaster said, looking between the two of them.

“No?” Enjolras breathed out in a small voice, taken aback.

“Sit down,” Valjean ordered calmly.

Grantaire looked to Enjolras and nodded encouragingly, sinking back into the chair he had been sitting in. Enjolras slowly sat down in the chair beside him, reluctantly releasing Grantaire and guiltily tucking his hands between his knees.

“Monsieur Grantaire and I have already been discussing what happened. I know about your class today, I know about the letter. I even witnessed the main event from here,” Valjean explained, gesturing to the large window behind him overlooking the grounds. “And I have just now been told by Monsieur Grantaire what happened last week,” he said, frowning at Enjolras.

It seemed Enjolras's speculation, then, had been correct. Javert hadn't told Valjean about what had occurred on Thursday, despite Enjolras's probation status. “It was only an accident,” Enjolras said quickly, unsure how much needed to be explained, “but then Javert, he didn’t believe it, and he-”

“He was not allowed to discipline students in such a manner,” Valjean said sternly, his fingers tensing in front of him.

“I-I still have the marks, if you need proof,” Enjolras volunteered, despite the harrowing thought of actually showing them.

“No, no, my dear Enjolras,” Valjean said, softer this time. “That won't be necessary. Regretfully, I believe it. Years ago Monsieur Javert assured me such antiquated methods were behind him. But it seems old traditions die hard. I am very, _very_ sorry that you had to endure such treatment, and can assure you this will never happen again.”

Enjolras nodded, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. The thought of returning to Debate for their next class was more than a little alarming. “How can you be sure, sir?”

“Because as of today, Monsieur Javert will no longer be teaching at this school.”

Enjolras sat up attentively, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. He stole a glance at Grantaire. There was the smallest flicker of a smile on Grantaire's lips before his mouth resumed its calm expression.

“It is within my judgement to declare that Monsieur Grantaire acted in self defense this afternoon, for Monsieur Javert had intention to harm both him and you, Enjolras, as he did before. Javert has gone behind my back to discipline students in a manner that has long been forbidden at this institution. Just because it is legal does not mean it is a method that will be tolerated within my campus. I will not stand for it and neither, I'm sure, would your parents.”

Enjolras shook his head in agreement.

“Now, because of the grave nature of these events,” Valjean continued, “I _will_ be calling both of your families to inform them on what has happened. I would prefer they hear it from me as soon as-”

“Don't, please,” Grantaire protested, quickly shaking his head. “Don't call them.”

“You'd be surprised, Monsieur Grantaire,” Valjean said wisely. “Your stepfather had his share of disputes with Monsieur Javert, when he was a student.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“That's something you both share. Monsieur Javert does not know you and your stepfather share any relation, considering you do not have the same last name, nor did I inform him. But I find it an interesting familial characteristic all the same.”

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, seemingly impressed. As much as he had expressed distaste for his stepfather, it appeared there was something they had in common after all.

“Of course, you alone faced down Monsieur Javert in such a manner,” Valjean said, with an air of fascination. “That's quite a left hook you have, Grantaire. I must say, you remind me a bit… of me, when I was your age. I didn't know my own strength.”

Grantaire smiled guiltily back.

“But because we’re strong, we need to be careful to control it. Isn't that right?” Valjean eyed him. Despite the paternal tone, his words were cautionary.

Grantaire nodded, the smile disappearing. “Yes, sir. I promise. I won’t be fighting any more teachers. Or any students, for that matter.”

“Good,” Valjean said, seeming relieved. “I am calling a meeting with the teachers and staff directly after this. I will explain to them what is happening moving forward, and I want them to know they have nothing to worry about or fear in regards to you. As for the students, I shall call an assembly after breakfast tomorrow morning. I will be relaying the same information we have discussed together now, and encourage anyone else who has suffered an abuse by Javert's hand to come and speak with me, if they wish. Considering you know what is to be said, I will not require you to attend this assembly. I only ask that should you be approached by students before then that you tell them nothing but the honest truth, for I will not allow any glorification of physical violence on my campus. I want to make it clear that students will not be mimicking such actions upon each other under my watch.”

“No sir,” Grantaire agreed. “And if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to say much of anything, if I can. I admit I'm a bit overwhelmed.”

“Very well. If you would like some privacy I will grant you both permission to have your dinner in the faculty dining room. After all, my teachers will be here with me for the evening until tonight's game, which we will still be holding, and I do hope you will feel comfortable enough to attend. You could use something to lighten your spirits.”

“Yes, I want to go,” Enjolras said adamantly. “I want to watch my friends play.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps the top of the stadium would be best, should you wish to avoid a curious crowd.” Valjean folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “Now, that we’ve settled that, I must go back to you, Monsieur Enjolras. As I said before, and perhaps not for the last time, I am very sorry that you were unjustifiably disciplined in such a terrible manner. I know that I cannot undo what was done to you, but I am wondering what I _can_ do for you, if there is something, anything I can do to ease the pain you have experienced. Perhaps I can-”

“Bring back the ABC Society,” Enjolras said in a rush, not even certain what Valjean was going to say. “Please,” he added imploringly. “I know that I haven’t been the perfect student like you wanted but I know that my friends deserve it more than anything else. That is what I want. To set things right again.”

Valjean looked at him with curiosity. “If that is what you-”

“A-and last night I came up with a plan,” Enjolras added quickly. “A new philosophy to make it a more welcoming club for everyone. And... and Grantaire, he’s going to be a member, too.” He reached over and put his hand on top of Grantaire’s in solidarity. “He _is_ a member now.”

The headmaster seemed confused for a moment, but then smiled. “I suppose I needn’t ask if you two have patched things up, considering you wouldn’t hear of Grantaire leaving the school without you in tow. I think that may be proof enough your outlook has greatly improved, even under such unfortunate circumstances. And I am happy to hear about these new rules for the ABC Society. Perhaps that is just what it has been needing after all these years,” he nodded in contemplation. “Alright, then, I will happily release the suspension on your club and return it to you knowing it is in good hands.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, relaxing into his chair as he let out a breath. “Thank you, Headmaster. Truly.”

“But is that all you ask for?” Valjean pressed.

Enjolras thought for a moment, but then remembered something important. “Headmaster… may I ask about my probation?”

“Of course. Lifted,” he said simply.

“Lifted?” Enjolras asked hopefully, sitting up again.

“After what you have gone through, I think it appropriate to clean the slate. Your grievances with Monsieur Javert were more than understandable, and I excuse you for what you felt you had to do in class today, when I could not be reached. In regards to the initial reason behind your probation, it pleases me greatly to see your new found compassion towards Monsieur Grantaire. This was what I wanted to see from you. I have faith that you will keep it up, and continue to be the student I've always known you can be.”

“I will,” Enjolras agreed, nodding heartily.

“I'm glad to hear it. Now, before I dismiss you, do you two have any questions for me?”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, than back to Valjean. “Who will be teaching our debate class now?” he asked. “We have a… _had_... a project due on Wednesday.”

“As this only just now happened, I am not sure,” Valjean admitted. “That will be something I will discuss with my staff. However, until we can hire a new teacher, hmm, I imagine _I_ shall be sitting in on your classes for now. It might be a refreshing experience, and maybe I can help calm the waters, so to speak, at your next lesson.”

Enjolras nodded. “I think that would be very good, headmaster.”

“Yes,” Grantaire agreed. “That would be nice.”

“I imagine I could teach a thing or two about debate,” Valjean mused. “I've had my share of experience with the law. Argued my way around a few things.” Enjolras cocked his head, but Valjean merely waved the thought away. “Is that all?”

Enjolras nodded. He rose from the chair. Grantaire looked to him and followed suit, getting to his feet.

“I think the only appropriate conclusion is to tell you both that I am sorry once again, and that I am going to ensure that the Corinthe School will be a better place from here on out,” Valjean promised. “If either of you need to talk to me at anytime, and I encourage you to do so, please let me know right away. I will make time for you both. Until then, I am glad that you have each other.”

“Thank you, sir,” Enjolras said, nodding gratefully.

“Thank you,” Grantaire echoed.

Valjean nodded solemnly, then gave them a small smile.

As they turned to the door, Grantaire reaching out for the handle. Enjolras paused. “Sir,” he said, slowly turning back. “There is… one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Could you… could you look into Madame and Monsieur Thenardier, too? There's something a little strange about them.”

Valjean raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh. I'll see what I can do.”

“A-and Monsieur Bamatabois. And also Monsieur Gribi-”

“How about this, Enjolras,” Valjean cut him off. “On Wednesday, I’d like to hold our first student council meeting of the year. You can tell me about anything and everything you'd like improved here at Corinthe. I want to hear all about it, I mean it.”

Enjolras nodded eagerly. “Okay. And I can tell you about my proposal to create a standardized system of discipline so that students will know what to expect when it comes to detentions and… hm?”

Grantaire was tugging him gently, toward the doorway.

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Valjean said reassuringly. “You can tell me all about this proposal on Wednesday. I must meet with my staff now, to make sure they are informed of my decisions. I wish you both a more pleasant evening.”

Enjolras nodded again and let Grantaire lead him out of the office. Dahlia was waiting on the other side to close the door behind them. They began to head toward the exit when Enjolras stopped. “Wait,” he said. “I want to make another phone call, if you don't mind.”

“Another?” Grantaire asked curiously, not having heard of the first, but Enjolras tugged him over to the armchair beside the telephone. The cushion was big enough to accommodate them both, and he pulled Grantaire down beside him as he sat and reached for the phone. He dialed his home number once more, and waited.

“Hello?” his mother asked as she picked up again.

“Hi. It's me,” Enjolras said softly.

“Enjolras! I’ve been worried. Are you certain you don't need me to make a call?”

“I'm fine, Mom. I wanted to call back to tell you everything's okay.” She would be hearing from Valjean soon, but it was better to tell her in his own way first, to keep her calm. “I've got the issue taken care of now. Well, really it was Grantaire that took care of it, I think.”

Beside him, Grantaire smirked, jokingly flexing his arm. “I think so, too,” he whispered.

“So there's no need to worry anymore,” Enjolras added. “It’s all better,” He smiled to himself. “A lot better.”

“I'm so glad to hear it, honey,” his mother said. “Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?”

“Oh, you'll hear about it later,” Enjolras laughed nervously. “But I have to g-”

Grantaire took away the receiver before Enjolras could say goodbye. “Hello,” he said curiously. “This is Grantaire... Yes. Yes I did... Mhm... Oh, I love it, thank you... Uh-huh... Oh, he's been a good boy.”

Enjolras gave him a look.

Grantaire smiled, eyeing him back. “We get along really well. He's _always_ a perfect gentlemen,” he assured her.

 _“Grantaire,”_ Enjolras whispered in annoyance, making a grab for the phone.

Grantaire put a hand on Enjolras's face to push him away. “We never argue, it's an ideal living situation really. Couldn't ask for a better roommate.”

Enjolras sighed, giving up and waiting for him to finish.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, dropping his hand. “I feel very lucky to have been matched up with your son.” His tone had suddenly become more sincere. “Me too. Alright. Here he is.” Grantaire handed the phone back over.

“Mom?”

“He sounds like a nice young man,” she commented happily.

“Yeah,” Enjolras sighed. “Anyway, we've got to get going.”

“Yes. Shouldn't you two be in class right now?” she asked in realization.

“Afternoon off,” Enjolras said. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, honey. Goodbye!”

“Goodbye.” Enjolras hung up the phone. “Let’s go.”

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed down the hallway with Grantaire in tow. As soon as he pushed open the door, the bright afternoon sunlight hit his eyes. He took in a deep breath as the door closed behind them, taking in the fresh air. He was still in shock from everything that had happened that afternoon. “I… I can hardly believe we’re allowed to just walk out of there freely after all that hap-”

He couldn't finish his sentence. Grantaire put his hands on Enjolras's cheeks and turned his face towards him, pulling him into an immediate kiss. He could feel a sudden outpouring of emotion from Grantaire, which might have been desperation, or gratitude, or relief, but whatever it was, Enjolras felt the same. He kissed him back, feeling Grantaire breathe a sigh against his lips, his fingers combing through his hair.

When Enjolras began to feel lightheaded he pulled back, and lay his head down on Grantaire's shoulder, leaning against him. “You're so stupid,” he whispered.

 _“You're_ stupid,” Grantaire replied affectionately. But then, after a pause, “...why am I stupid?”

“You punched a _teacher,_ I thought I’d never see you again,” Enjolras chastised, his cheek pressing against Grantaire's blazer.

“It solved like three of your problems,” Grantaire reminded him brightly, rubbing his back.

“You didn't know it would,” Enjolras protested.

“I couldn't let him hurt you again, Enj.”

“Mmf,” Enjolras grunted against Grantaire's shoulder. “And why am I stupid?”

“Because you said you'd rather be expelled then go to school without me,” Grantaire said, petting his hair. “Ridiculous. You love Corinthe.”

“I couldn't have lived with myself,” Enjolras said, lifting his head to look up into Grantaire's eyes. “It was only meant to be me under fire, you know, I would never have asked you to-”

Grantaire put a finger to Enjolras's lips, a smile on his own. “Shhh… it's done.”

Enjolras kept his mouth closed as Grantaire drew his finger away and nodded. He latently glanced around to make sure they were alone, but no one was lingering around the school entrance at this time of day. “C’mon,” he concluded. “Let’s get to the Great Hall before the others get out of class.”

Grantaire gave him a mischievous smile as he followed Enjolras down the steps of the administration building. “It was kind of sexy though, right?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “I know you like these muscles, Enj.”

Enjolras threw him a look. “Shut up,” he said, giving him a half-hearted push when they stepped onto the sidewalk.

Grantaire sidestepped with a laugh, then returned to his side, putting his arm around him.

They were the first ones to arrive for dinner, and when they got their trays they took advantage of Valjean’s suggestion and disappeared into the faculty dining room. Enjolras took his familiar seat at the head of the table, and Grantaire jokingly stood looking out at the other seats. “Let’s see, where should I sit…”

“Here,” Enjolras insisted in exasperation, pointing to the one beside him, and grinning, Grantaire set his tray down exactly where he had sat last time they had eaten in this fateful room.

“I thought they were already assigned,” Grantaire chuckled.

“No. I need you beside me,” Enjolras said seriously.

“I am, Enj. I am.”

Dinner was a savory stew ladled over slices of baguette, a welcome sight. Enjolras dug into his eagerly, ready to warm his belly considering he hadn't had any lunch at all. Grantaire gazed around the private dining room thoughtfully, at the dark mahogany furniture and dim chandelier above. “It’s _almost_ like we’re on a date,” he commented. But then his eyes went to the intimidating portraits of the school founders above them, and he wrinkled his nose. “Well, maybe not so much.”

Enjolras swallowed a bite and gave him a sideways smile. “Might be a better setting than being _in_ the lake.”

“I'll have you know I quite enjoyed myself on that date,” Grantaire countered. “Shipwreck and all. That was a good day.”

“It was,” Enjolras amended. “I'll never forget it.”

“Won't forget today either,” Grantaire mumbled with amusement before he took a sip of his water.

Enjolras studied him for a moment. He noticed the knuckles of his hand holding the glass were a vivid dark red. Enjolras held out his hand to him. “Let me see.”

“Hm?” Grantaire said, putting down his glass in confusion, but he tentatively offered his hand as Enjolras reached for it again.

Enjolras brushed his thumb gently over Grantaire's hand, the skin hot beneath his touch. Grantaire didn't flinch though, and simply squeezed Enjolras's hand fondly. His knuckles would surely bruise, considering how hard he must have hit Javert to knock him out. That was why boxers were supposed to wear gloves. “Does it hurt?”

“I'll be fine,” he said dismissively. “A small price to pay for the outcome.” Grantaire kept hold of Enjolras’s hand, while he switched to using his right hand to continue eating.

“You risked everything, doing something like that,” Enjolras said in awe. He watched him attentively, and noticed small beauties in Grantaire's features he hadn't made note of before. How appealing the shape of his nose was in profile. The way his eyelashes framed his vibrant eyes. The way his thick hair fell over his forehead in perfectly tousled chaos.

“So did you, Enj. And I'd do it all over again,” he said, eyeing him. “I would.”

Enjolras gently released his hand so he could pick up his fork again, not being as ambidextrously talented as Grantaire. He supposed there was no use wondering what would have happened if they hadn't done it, the point was they had both made a stand and survived. There was no need to look back now. But there was one more thing on Enjolras's mind. “Grantaire.”

“Mm?”

“Out in the courtyard... you said that you loved me, didn't you?” he asked.

“Well... I mean… it's…” Grantaire shrugged and shook his head dismissively, but then thought better of it, closing his eyes, biting his lip and nodding. “Sometimes you just have to say things like that when you know it could be your only chance.”

Enjolras looked at him, searching his eyes. “So, are you saying that you love me, Grantaire?”

Grantaire nodded again, slowly. “Yes.”

“In so short a time?” Enjolras asked quietly.

“Love can happen _any_ time,” Grantaire replied simply.

Enjolras turned pink, the corners of his mouth turning up gently. He wasn’t sure how it made sense, but he had been so slow to recognize his feelings for Grantaire, perhaps this was beyond his understanding. “What does it feel like?” he asked shyly. “To be in love.”

“What does it feel like...” Grantaire repeated. “So far, it’s felt like…so many things. It was… joy, every time you looked at me, every time you touched me, or smiled, or said my name. And...and it was pain, when you pushed me away, over and over, or when it was you that was hurting, and seeing you cry hurt me too. And it was longing, when I laid beside you and I felt like it could never be enough, because I knew in the morning we’d have to part, and I couldn’t hold you forever. And it’s been sadness, and anger, and desire, sometimes all at once, and always I can feel it all right here in my chest,” he said, pressing his hand right below his collarbone. He was calm, and yet underneath he seemed to be brimming with everything he was describing. “It’s these complex emotions that encompass everything you make me feel, and how I feel about you. And even though I’ve never experienced this before, I know what it is. I know what this is called.”

Enjolras slowly let out his breath, contemplating his words and averting his eyes down to the food in front of him.

“What do… what do you think about that?” Grantaire prompted.

“I don't know what love is supposed to feel like,” Enjolras began, a little embarrassed. “But maybe I might… feel something like that, too. The thought of losing you... it was so painful. I was so scared I’d never see you again.” He swallowed and looked back up at Grantaire, thinking of how he had offered to throw away his life at Corinthe, the thing he had loved most of all, for Grantaire’s sake. That had to mean something. “Maybe I might be falling in love with you, too. Is that okay?”

“That's more than okay,” Grantaire said softly. They stared at each other for a moment, the air between them full of words unspoken, and Grantaire reached out to take his hand again. When their fingers touched, something new passed between them, as if their joining held a new sort of power. Then Grantaire spoke up again. “Do you want to… I mean, I know you asked last night, but _tonight,_ would you want to-”

“Yes,” Enjolras answered immediately. From the way Grantaire was looking at him, he knew they were thinking the same thing.

“Good.” Grantaire nodded. “Me too.”

Enjolras felt a sudden relief, his heart soaring weightless within him. The thought that he had something to look forward to, after being stuck for so long dreading the future, was immediately comforting. He smiled at Grantaire.

Grantaire blushed a little, smiling back. “Even after what happened today?”

“Especially after what happened today,” Enjolras insisted. He wanted to be closer to Grantaire, now more than ever. “I'm not scared anymore, I promise.”

“No,” Grantaire agreed. “Nothing to be scared of now.” He looked up distractedly, releasing his hand as beyond the doors they heard the muffled sound of students beginning to mill around in the cafeteria. “Damn. I was going to go back for some dessert,” Grantaire laughed awkwardly, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I can go,” Enjolras offered. “I'm not as infamous as you right now.” He pushed himself up, and slipped out the faculty entrance as inconspicuously as he could manage. Luckily, with students only just arriving for dinner, there was no line for dessert. He headed right to the counter, accepting a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce from a member of the kitchen staff. “Can I have another?” he asked guiltily. “For my friend?”

With two bowls in hand he went back to the private dining room. “Here we are,” he announced to Grantaire, and leaned back to shut the door with his hip. It wouldn't close. Grantaire's eyes widened. Enjolras turned his head, and with a gasp of surprise found himself face to face with Courfeyrac, who had wedged his foot in the doorway.

“I need to hear _everything_ ,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Did you see what happened?” Enjolras asked.

 _“No,”_ he said, clearly disappointed, “but I heard from Combeferre who heard from Joly and Jehan and Marius and all the other boys in Tholomyes’s class, and... what are you doing in here?” he blinked. “Are you hiding?”

“No,” Enjolras shook his head, disgruntled.

“Ice cream,” Grantaire reminded him, banging the table impatiently.

Enjolras turned back to the table to put down the bowls. Courfeyrac leaned into the room. “Oh my god, you are hiding aren't you? Grantaire, bad choice. I know this spot in the woods, you can hide there tonight, we’ll pool together our money for a train ticket and you can be out of here by morning.”

Grantaire gazed calmly at Courfeyrac as he ate a spoonful of ice cream.

“We’re not in trouble,” Enjolras explained. “Valjean’s decision.”

“Seriously?!” Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Hold on.” With that, he disappeared, the door slowly drifting closed behind him.

“Oh boy,” Enjolras said, bracing himself. “Here they come.”

“Who?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac returned shortly, along with all the rest of the senior ABC Society filing in behind him. They were chattering with excitement and curiosity, and Enjolras quickly closed the door again when they were all inside.

“Enjolras!”

“Grantaire!”

“What happened? Start from the beginning!”

“Did you talk to Valjean?”

“Did you break his nose?”

“Did you save the letter?”

“Are you going home?”

It was a bombardment of questions, and Enjolras waved them away silently. He returned to his seat at the head of the table, but he didn't sit down. “Boys,” he said, and the word hushed them up. They gathered around the table, some standing, some taking a seat. Enjolras looked around at them all, wondering what to say, their eyes intent upon him. Then he couldn't help but smile. “A great enemy was defeated today.”

Bahorel folded his arms. “We haven't even played the match yet.” Bossuet elbowed him.

“No, not the National Academy,” Enjolras said, the others laughing a little. “Monsieur Javert will no longer be reigning terror over his students.”

Another breakout of excited chatter, and Enjolras stood satisfied at the head of the table, waiting for it to die down. Grantaire attempted to point out the neglected bowl of ice cream, but Enjolras waved his hand dismissively.

“Out with it then!” encouraged Feuilly.

“Tell us what happened,” chimed in Jehan.

“I'm dying to make sense of this,” Combeferre said anxiously.

Enjolras glanced back at Grantaire. Grantaire, who had no interest in speaking up, gestured elegantly back, figuratively handing the story over for him to tell. Enjolras nodded and looked out at his friends again, taking a deep breath.

He began with Thursday, finally revealing to them what had happened to him that afternoon at the end of Javert’s class. Joly covered his mouth, turning pale, and Enjolras heard Combeferre lean over to say, “I heard he was doing that. Freshman year. I thought the seniors were just saying that to scare us.”

He told them of his futile quest for an audience in Valjean’s office, then the writing of the letter during lunch and the fateful speech that ignited Javert’s ire; of how it all culminated in Grantaire's heroic intervention: splintering the cane, baiting the beast to get him outside, out of the classroom, and of course, delivering the final blow that felled him. Jehan took note of Grantaire's raw knuckles, and Bahorel patted him on the shoulder, congratulating his bravery. Grantaire pulled Enjolras's ice cream over across the table and ate it for him.

Enjolras told them everything that had transpired in Valjean's office afterward, everything except the temporary suspension and restoration of the ABC Society. _One school scandal at a time,_ he thought, especially when half his friends had a big game to worry about. But he didn't want to leave it there. “I want you all to remember,” he concluded slowly, “what I’ve just learned from all of this. And that is: don't keep silent. I never could have predicted the outcome of what happened today. But if I hadn't spoken out, Javert would still be our teacher, and he would continue to get away with his treatment of students. So that's what I want you to remember, too. Don't stay silent. That's how a man like that wins. If you know something is wrong, speak up. If you see injustice, fight, and fight again, and I'll be there with you.”

“Here, here,” Courfeyrac said heartily.

“And maybe, uh,” Grantaire added, massaging his hand. “Maybe I'll just use words next time.”

Enjolras smirked, nodding. “Maybe.”

“Hey, sometimes one good punch is all you need,” Bahorel assured Grantaire, patting him on the head. “Now I hate to end our little meeting early but my team and I have to get going. We need to eat and get out of here so we can get ready.”

“Yes,” Enjolras agreed, clasping his hands together. “Thank you all, for listening. Valjean will tell you everything tomorrow, but I'm glad you heard it from me first.”

“Of course, Enj,” Courfeyrac said, coming over to hug him tightly. Then he released him, turning to Grantaire. “Stand up, stand up, you too.”

Grantaire seemed genuinely surprised, but he stood up, and allowed Courfeyrac to embrace him. He seemed bewildered at first, but then he beamed at Enjolras over Courfeyrac's shoulder, grateful for the acceptance.

When Courfeyrac stepped back, he saluted them. “Keep on fightin', boys.”

“You too, citizen,” Enjolras grinned.

“Alright! Let's move out,” Courfeyrac announced, leading the others out of the dining room to get back in line for dinner.

“Good luck!” Enjolras called heartily to the football team. “Wait,” he quickly added, reaching out and catching the back of Combeferre's blazer, stopping him in his tracks. Combeferre turned, and Enjolras paused, watching as the rest of his friends filed out of the room.

Combeferre sensed his secrecy. “Did you find out about you-know-what?” he whispered.

Enjolras slowly grinned. “The ABC Society will live again,” he said with pride.

Combeferre returned the smile, and giddily pulled him into a hug. “I'm so glad!” When he released him, he ruffled his hair. “My, you've been awfully busy today.”

 _And it's not over just yet,_ Enjolras thought as he watched Combeferre leave. He turned to Grantaire. “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, standing up to stack their trays and dishes together. “Let me just prepare myself to make an exit.”

“I’ll take those back,” Enjolras insisted, reaching over to take them.

When this dishes were returned, they surreptitiously left the cafeteria. Luckily, most of the student body was in the the Great Hall, so the courtyard was practically deserted, and only a few curious stares followed them as they entered the dorm. Once they reached their bedroom, Grantaire stepped in and stopped, cocking his head at the dominoes Enjolras had kicked across the floor. “Oh,” he said in mild surprise.

“Sorry, I... had a bit of a fit before I joined you at the office. When I thought I'd never see you again,” Enjolras said apologetically, having forgotten about the heart. “But trust me, the message was appreciated, even if it was short-lived.”

Grantaire reached over and tilted Enjolras’s chin up. “Mission accomplished, then,” he said with a forgiving smile and a quick kiss.

They shed their school uniforms in favor of sweaters and jeans, but having eaten early, they still had time before the game. Grantaire got down on the floor to clean up the dominoes, and Enjolras quickly joined him. “Hey, I got it,” Grantaire assured him.

“I've caused enough mess for you today,” Enjolras insisted.

“No. What you said to our friends is right.” He dropped the dominoes he was holding and took Enjolras’s hand. “I won’t ever be silent. I’m glad I stood up and fought with you.”

Enjolras slowly smiled. “Our.”

“Hm?”

“You said ‘our’ friends,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Our friends,” Grantaire repeated, pleased with himself.

Enjolras looked down at Grantaire’s hand over his, his knuckles beginning to purple. He gently released him. “Hold on, I'm going to get something for you. I’ll be right back, wait here,” he said, getting up to head downstairs and closing the door behind him.

When he returned shortly, he found Grantaire lying on the floor, paging through Enjolras’s forbidden Greek book. “What are you doing with that?” Enjolras asked teasingly, knowing Grantaire dug it out of his drawer while he was gone.

“What did you bring me?” Grantaire countered, looking up at Enjolras and the little package in his hand.

“An ice pack from the nurse's office,” he said, sitting down beside him and holding it out. “Keep it on your hand, it'll feel better.”

Grantaire looked a little stunned, and took it. “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

“You took care of me, I’ll take care of you,” Enjolras said, reaching out to stroke his hair, proud that he could finally return some of the tenderness Grantaire had shown him the night he had been hurt. “Now what are you doing with my book?” he asked, peeking over curiously.

“Well, maybe I might be looking forward to something later tonight,” Grantaire admitted, with an embarrassed smirk. “I'm feeling inspired.”

From then until it was time to leave, they paged through the book together, a little shyly at first until they dissolved into giggles, sharing in their anticipation. Enjolras was only too happy to point out when they passed by his favorite satyr, and Grantaire grinned, spinning a tale of his life in mythical Ancient Greece. As they continued turning through the book, he spoke of his time as a satyr, and the beautiful blonde youth he had fallen in love with. Enjolras grinned, blushing but pleased that Grantaire was so eagerly indulging in his fantasy. He was so enraptured he almost forgot to check the clock, and when he did, he saw there was only ten minutes until the game. “We have to go,” he said, quickly closing the book. “I don’t want to miss any of it.”

“Wait, wait.” Grantaire stuffed the ice pack in his jacket pocket, and crawled across the floor to get under his bed. He extracted the shopping bag he had hidden beneath, and from it, he pulled out the bottle of cologne and spritzed it on his neck. “There,” he said, shaking his head airly as he stood up.

“What’s that all about?” Enjolras asked.

“Nothing wrong with making myself a little more enticing for the big night with my boyfriend,” Grantaire explained.

“Let’s see if it works,” Enjolras said in a low voice, coming over to him. Grantaire lifted his chin and waited as Enjolras leaned in to catch the scent. “Ohhhh… so fancy,” he whispered, laughing as he pressed his nose to his skin.

“Good,” Grantaire said, nosing him back. “But no one else will know.” He pulled away and reached for his scarf, wrapping it around his neck to hide the scent. “Only you.”

“Of course.” Enjolras went to grab his own scarf, donning it in solidarity before putting on his jacket.

“What a pair we make,” Grantaire said cheerily, admiring their matching scarves as he offered his arm to Enjolras. “Who would’ve guessed we’d turn this school upside down?”

“Not me,” Enjolras replied, gladly taking hold of him as they left their dorm room.

When they arrived at the athletic field, the grass seemed to glow gold, with the sun setting brilliantly beyond the trees and distant mountaintops. They ascended the back stairs to the top of the stands, slipping into the last row while the rest of the school was clamoring for the closest seats. Enjolras spotted Courfeyrac’s parents in the first row, sitting alongside Bahorel's parents, and other family members that must have belonged to the team. Across the way on the other side of the field, parents and several classmates of the National Academy team sat in the guest seats, and above them, the Corinthe faculty. Valjean sat amongst them, next to the headmaster of the opposing school.

Students brandished the blue and red school pennants as the teams marched out onto the field. Both Corinthe and the National Academy had the same school colors, but the home team came out in their brilliant red uniforms, while the Academy wore blue. The Corinthe team waved wildly, proud smiles on their faces as they looked up at the crowd. Monsieur Mabeuf, not only a history teacher but a football enthusiast as well, was playing referee that night, and he led the two schools in the national anthem before he blew the whistle and the the game officially began.

Already, the students went wild, jumping and cheering as Courfeyrac kicked off and led the charge down the field. He was a natural athlete, his stocky figure weaving deftly around the competition, darting this way and that with the ball before passing it off to a junior player. They drew closer and closer to the goal, passing it back and forth between eagerly awaiting team members, shouting excitedly when they were open. Just as it seemed they had a clear shot to make the first goal, the other team rushed in, stole the ball from Corinthe, and ran with it, while the crowd loudly voiced their disappointment.

“C’mon,” Grantaire grunted, curling his hand into a fist even as he held the ice pack over it.

Enjolras, who had jumped up in the hopes they were going to score a goal, wilted a little. “It's okay,” he assured them both. “It's just the beginning.”

Grantaire gave him a sidelong look, surprised to see him on his feet. “You sure you’re not a sports kind of guy?”

“I watch it, I don't play it,” Enjolras replied, slowly sinking back into his seat, his eyes on the field. “I was okay at dodgeball, back when I took gym. But everything else…” Enjolras trailed off, noticing movement at the corner of his eye, and turned his head to see Montparnasse sneaking in from the back to sit on an empty seat nearby. He did a double take when he realized Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting next to him.

“You're still here?” he asked, incredulous.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly.

“Interesting…” Montparnasse nodded slowly in confusion. His eyes moved down, noticing Enjolras's arm linked through Grantaire's. _“Very_ interesting.” He gave Enjolras a knowing look, but quickly returned to his usual aloof manner. “You guys will have to teach me your methods. Even I don't think I could have wriggled my way out of that one,” he said, impressed.

“Being honest may have had something to do with it,” Enjolras suggested.

“Indeed. More importantly though, has Bahorel scored a goal yet?” Montparnasse looked out at the field, searching for him.

“The score is zero-zero. You haven't missed a thing.”

“Oh,” Montparnasse said with relief.

“How come you're not down there with everyone else?” Enjolras saw the other members of Patron-Minette sitting close to the field.

“Oh, well, you know…” Montparnasse turned pink. “It's… um… no reason, really.”

“Could it be because... Bahorel’s parents are down there?” Enjolras guessed with a curious smile.

“They're both so big and intimidating,” Montparnasse whispered.

Enjolras laughed; it was true. Bahorel parents looked like professional athletes. “Do they even know about you and Bahorel?”

“No, but I feel safer up here.”

“That's okay, Parnasse,” Grantaire leaned over to say. “You can sit with us, we're your friends too.”

Montparnasse looked to Enjolras for confirmation.

 _I suppose starting over means we could be friends this time,_ Enjolras thought fairly, and nodded.

Montparnasse gave him a grateful smile, scooting closer to them, before his attention was caught by what was going on down below. “Oh! Oh, there he has it!” he cried, grabbing Enjolras's arm.

Bahorel was running up the field with the ball, heading towards the goal. All three of them leaned forward to watch, tensing. He drew his foot back, preparing for a massive kick, when suddenly a player from the other team cut in and whisked the ball away, passing it back up the field, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye the ball had made it past Feuilly into the goal. The crowd collectively groaned, sitting back in their seats, while the guests on the other side cheered.

“Damn,” Montparnasse whispered, letting go of Enjolras's arm. “I've never actually attended a football match here before. Please don't tell me we're a bad team.” He gave Enjolras a pleading look.

Much to Enjolras's chagrin, Grantaire was giving him the same questioning look. “N-no!” he said quickly, looking between the two of them. “You should know, Grantaire, you played with them yesterday! We've got a good team, it's just that… the National Academy is pretty good too,” he sighed. Grantaire and Montparnasse echoed his sigh and turned back to watch.

It wasn't pretty. As much as the Corinthe team tried to get a goal in, the National Academy headed them off, stopping them at every opportunity. At one point, Bossuet had a perfect shot straight into the goal, but he stumbled as he tried to make the kick and then it was too late, the Academy team closed in on him. On the other side of the field, Feuilly failed to save two more goals, each time the student body letting out collective gasps of dismay and weakly clapping for support as the Corinthe team tried to regroup. They looked despondent out there, continually being denied a chance to score a single goal, while the sky darkened with the coming night, and the floodlights came on overhead. Mabeuf blew the whistle for half time, just as the ball went flying once more past Feuilly’s fingertips. The goal still counted, and now the score was four to zero.

“This is awful,” Montparnasse mumbled, his head in his hands.

Enjolras’s eyes fluttered closed, his fingers going to his temples. He had been so inspired by his friends’ confidence that morning, he hadn't expected the match would go down like this. And now a creeping feeling settled in and left him wondering if he might be partially responsible.

“They did so well at the scrimmage yesterday,” Grantaire lamented beside him.

Enjolras raised his head. “I'll be right back,” he decided, standing up as he watched the players trail underneath the stadium on their way to the locker room. He met them down there, the team all drinking water on the benches and looking dejected as he entered. Even Bahorel wasn't attempting a pep talk. “Hey,” Enjolras said softly, feeling a little out of his element.

“Hey, Enj,” Courfeyrac replied. “Sorry. We’re trying.”

“Don’t apologize,” Enjolras said, coming over to put a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. “I came down to apologize to you.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, I was just thinking I should have been pumping you guys up for the game, instead of unpacking the entire Javert debacle upon you right beforehand.”

“Oh, no, it's not that,” Courfeyrac said. “You didn’t throw off our game. In fact you gave quite a rousing speech at dinner. ‘Fight, and fight again,’ right?” He shook his head. “No, it's just-”

“We weren't ready for a team like this,” Bossuet sighed.

“They're way too good,” Feuilly added. “Militant, even. It's like a university team. They're all seniors at least.”

Bahorel remained stoic, leaning against a locker. The younger team members were looking sullen as well, staring at their feet.

“How are you boys doing?” Monsieur Mabeuf asked, coming in to check on them.

“I feel like we're letting everyone down,” Courfeyrac sighed. “It's the first game, we’re supposed to make a good impression, show the school what our team is made of.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You're not letting us down.”

“To catch up we’d have to make four goals in the second half, five to win,” Bahorel grunted. “And that's without letting in another goal.”

“It's not unheard of,” Mabeuf said reasonably. “They've scored four in a single half, so can you.”

“We can't just _will_ ourselves to be a better team than theirs,” Bahorel shot back, other players nodding in agreement.

It was quiet in the locker room for a moment, the sound of the crowd outside a distant rumble of voices. Enjolras stared at the concrete floor, his brows drawn together in thought. Then he straightened up. “We already are a better team,” he said, crossing his arms.

Bahorel raised an eyebrow.

“If we were a better team we'd have scored a goal by now,” a junior boy countered.

“Why do you say that, Enj?” Courfeyrac prompted.

“Because we’re at Corinthe,” Enjolras replied determinedly. “This is our home, and we’re the home team. And that means we have the heart and soul of this school right here, all around us. We can stand upon this ground and draw strength from it, no matter what comes our way. So stay strong, and know that whether we win or lose isn't important. What's important is making our school proud that we didn’t take this fight lying down.”

Courfeyrac slowly smiled until he broke into a grin, standing up from the bench. “That's the spirit, Enj!”

“What's all this ‘we’ talk?” Feuilly mock-whispered to Bossuet. “He's not even on the team.”

“Hey,” Enjolras barked, pointing to him. “You’ve got another chance. Go out there and take it. Show them that a student of Corinthe is a force to be reckoned with. Let’s go, defense!”

“Here, here,” Mabeuf chimed in, shaking his fist.

Feuilly couldn't help but smile.

Bahorel seemed caught between hope and doubt. “You really think we can do it?”

“I do,” Enjolras nodded. “I believe in you. Besides, I already found out _anything_ is possible today. Let’s hope some of my luck will rub off on you. Bring it in,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Courfeyrac smiled wider and put his hand on top of Enjolras's. “I feel charmed already. C’mon, Bahorel,” he said, beckoning with a tilt of his head.

Feuilly and Bossuet joined next, then finally Bahorel. “Everyone,” Enjolras encouraged, and the younger team members gathered together to put their hands in the circle, too. “1-2-3 Corinthe, ready?”

They nodded and together they shouted, “1… 2… 3... CORINTHE!” and raised their hands in the air, while Mabeuf applauded.

Then Enjolras smiled, looking around and noticing the team really was reinvigorated as they started for the door. He followed them out, offering more words of encouragement. “What about that new barricade technique I heard you discussing this weekend? Go for it! Feuilly, you can stop anything. Bossuet, tie your shoes.”

“Whoops.” Bossuet bent down to remedy the situation.

“Courfeyrac, you've always pictured scoring the winning goal,” Enjolras reminded him. “Don't lose sight of that dream.”

“Who are you again?” a junior asked

“His name’s Enjolras,” Courfeyrac replied snappily. “Learn it.”

Enjolras suppressed a laugh.

“Maybe you should have been team captain, Enj” Bahorel said thoughtfully, trailing behind as they moved through the tunnel under the stadium seats, Mabeuf and the rest of the team heading out to the field. “You're good at inspirational talks.”

“My place isn't in sports. But yours is, and you're a good captain. I'll be here whenever you need to call me in for a morale boost,” Enjolras said.

“Thanks, Enj, for coming down here. Even if we can't w-”

“Bahorel!”

Enjolras and Bahorel both turned their heads in surprise. Back down the tunnel, at the bottom of the stadium stairs, stood the slight figure of Montparnasse. He ran up, breezing past Enjolras and nearly slammed into Bahorel as he planted a good luck kiss on his lips. Enjolras took a step back, watching with amusement, and when Montparnasse released him, Bahorel’s eyes were wide. He looked at Enjolras, then cautiously over his shoulder, but the team had already disappeared onto the field.

“Score a goal for me?” Montparnasse asked sweetly, straightening Bahorel’s jersey out for him.

Bahorel nodded before smiling abashedly. “I will,” he promised, with a new motivation that Enjolras alone had failed to draw out of him. “I _will,”_ he repeated, and turned to run off after his team.

Enjolras stayed behind with Montparnasse, watching the captain make his exit. “I think that might have done the trick,” he murmured, giving Montparnasse a pat on the shoulder to congratulate his efforts. “Let's get back up there.”

When they both sat down next to Grantaire again, the players had positioned themselves on the field, both sides poised and ready. Mabeuf blew the whistle and the game was back on in full force, the National Academy forward sending the ball flying down the field for the kickoff. His teammates sped after it, but Bahorel intercepted in a flash, already off and running toward the opposing goal with a blur of black and white at his feet. Montparnasse grabbed Enjolras’s arm, his fingers tense with excitement, and Enjolras held his breath, eyes locked on the action below. _You’ve got this, Bahorel._

As the rival team closed in on Bahorel and the ball, a loud, low sound suddenly came from out of the fray. Bahorel gave a great war cry, scattering the National Academy team in shock, and ran right through their ranks. “Oh my god,” Grantaire breathed out, grinning in disbelief, but the rest of the crowd had already begun to cheer wildly, halfway out of their seats. “Go Bahorel!” Enjolras shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth in hopes of being heard. With a burst of speed, Bahorel made for the end of the field, and a magnificent kick sent the ball soaring past the Academy’s goalie into the net. The crowd shouted, clapped, and stomped their feet for Corinthe’s first goal of the game, and Grantaire put his fingers to his mouth, letting out a trilling high-pitched whistle.

“He did it!” Montparnasse gushed. “That was for me! Did you see?”

“I saw,” Enjolras laughed, applauding eagerly. Maybe the kiss really _had_ done the trick. “Let’s go, Corinthe!” he yelled out with glee.

The National Academy team was so thrown off by Bahorel’s small victory that they were visibly shaken, pointing fingers and chiding each other testily for the lapse in defense. Meanwhile the spirit of the Corinthe team only seemed to grow stronger. It seemed it was Bossuet’s turn in the spotlight next, for when the Academy players brought the ball back down the field he stole it away with surprising nimbleness. He and a sophomore player went sprinting up the field, nearly leaving their opponents in the dust as they passed the ball back and forth between them to the other side. The sophomore closed in and went for the goal, and when the Academy goalie deflected, knocking the ball back out, Bossuet swooped in lightning quick and sent it spinning over the goalies head, right back into the net.

More cheers and waving pennants from the stands, the crowd realizing they were witnessing a real chance at a comeback now that the score was two to four. The National Academy sensed it too, exchanging worried glances across the field and walking off their frustration with their hands on their hips.

“What exactly did you say down there?” Grantaire asked curiously, still clapping for Bossuet as the ball went back into play. His ice pack, now melted, lay forgotten on the bench beside him.

“Nothing they didn't know already,” Enjolras replied, watching Bahorel once again challenging the Academy players for control of the ball. “I just reminded them to have a little Corinthe School spirit. I won't take any credit.”

“I will,” Montparnasse insisted, leaning over. “It was me, really. The team captain needed a little pick-me-up to and well, my lips are magic,” he said proudly.

Grantaire raised his brows. “Gee, I hope you only mean a kiss,” he muttered in amusement, turning back to the field, and Enjolras stifled a laugh.

Two more goals followed Bossuet’s over the course of the second half, and the National Academy was livid. One was Bahorel’s second goal of the match, the other surprisingly made by a wiry little sophomore, their youngest player. The sophomores in the stands went wild for their comrade, as did the rest of the student body when they realized that the score was now tied, which seemed a miracle unto itself. Even the teachers were waving their arms enthusiastically, in the stands across the field

But the Academy players were not happy, and when they gained possession of the ball again, they were on the warpath, not to be humiliated by such an unthinkable upset. As they came down the home side of the field they made right for Feuilly with renewed vigor, their sights set right on him. The Corinthe defenders tried to close in but the Academy players got past. They darted back and forth as they passed the ball to each other, keeping it just out of reach, and then suddenly it was hurtling into the goal, and the crowd gasped in dismay as Feuilly made a heroic dive in vain. Corinthe had come so close to flipping the game on its head, but the Academy had once more regained their-

No, wait. There was the ball, barely balanced on the end of Feuilly’s fingertips. He suddenly realized he still had it, and with a grin Enjolras could see from all the way at the top of the stands, he pulled the ball close and jumped to his feet, throwing it back into play for Corinthe as the Academy players sped off to get in position.

The game was growing increasingly vicious, each team trying their hardest to break the tie and keep the other from coming out on top. It was like a tennis match, the ball going from one side of the field to the other, over and over with no change in score and now the clock was running down. The National Academy called a timeout and gathered in a circle in the center of the field for a pep talk. Bahorel took the opportunity to do the same, rounding up his team to discuss the plan in a quiet huddle.

When the they all broke apart, and Mabeuf blew the whistle again to resume play, it was clear the Academy team was not interested in accepting a tie. They gained possession of the ball and charged forward in full force, knocking over a junior as he tried to jump in and stop their advance. He was left sprawling in the grass.

“Foul!” Enjolras cried indignantly, but it seemed that Mabeuf hadn't seen from his side of the field. The junior had already shaken it off, though, quickly scrambling to his feet. He raced after the herd of Academy players, hurtling toward the goal.

Bahorel made a hand signal to Courfeyrac, then shouted, “Go, go!” Courfeyrac ran up to distract their opponents, fighting to take back the ball, while the rest of the Corinthe team gathered as one, offense and defense, to create an encircling wall outside the goal box. With a player standing guard every few feet, in essence they formed a protective barricade around Feuilly and the goal. When the advancing Academy team captain reached them, he seemed stumped, his momentum cut short. He dribbled the ball indecisively, almost pacing in front of the blockade, before passing to another Academy player in the hopes they might know how to get past them. Bahorel was near this one, and he shook his head, daring him to try it. The ball was passed off in frustration to someone else again, and recklessly, this one took the shot without stopping to think. When the ball came spinning forward, aiming to slip through the gaps in the Corinthe barricade, Bossuet swung out his foot with a mighty kick. The ball went soaring through the air, over the heads of the Academy team, and landed right next to the awaiting Courfeyrac, standing alone up the field.

He took off with the ball, and the Corinthe team cheered along with the crowd, breaking out of their barricade formation to run after him. The Academy players were right alongside them, but Courfeyrac was too far ahead for anyone to reach him. Enjolras was on his feet, yelling out Courfeyrac’s name, and Grantaire and Montparnasse stood up to join him. The clock was counting down the seconds, there were only a few left to break the tie. Courfeyrac rushed to the goal, and without stopping to analyze the shot, he used all the force he had built up sprinting down the field to send the ball flying through the goalie’s outstretched hands. It hit the net, and as Mabeuf blew the whistle the crowd erupted with shouts and applause, jumping up on the seats and waving their arms. Enjolras turned, overcome with joy, and nearly leapt into Grantaire’s arms. As he fell against him, the scent of Grantaire’s cologne surrounded him, and Enjolras felt giddy, clinging tighter. Grantaire lifted him half off the ground, and to Enjolras’s surprise, Montparnasse joined in on the hug, sandwiching him in the middle.

When Enjolras was released, he saw the Corinthe team surrounding Courfeyrac, who disappeared for a moment before he emerged again, lifted over their heads. He had scored the winning goal, and it was only his first time playing for Corinthe that his dreams of football glory had come true.

“Are you… are you crying?” Grantaire leaned in to ask over the noise.

Enjolras blinked and realized his eyelashes were wet. He was so happy, he hadn't noticed.

“Never knew when I met you you'd be such a softy,” Grantaire chided gently, brushing the tears from his cheeks.

“I know,” Enjolras laughed with embarrassment. “I'm surprised, too. It's been an emotional two weeks.”

“Oh come on,” Montparnasse said from behind him. “You've always been overly emotional about Corinthe. You crying over football is not surprising at all.”

Enjolras pursed his lips, but Grantaire laughed. “They're happy tears, right?” he asked, fussing with Enjolras's scarf.

“Yeah...” Enjolras nodded, wiping at his eye. “I just love Corinthe, you know?” And no one would take that feeling from him again.

“Yes,” Grantaire agreed placatingly. “I know. So no more heroic requests for expulsion, okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras nodded in agreement.

“Hey, there's an after-party in there,” Montparnasse pointed out, looking down behind the stands where students, teammates, and parents were filtering into the gym.

“A party?” Enjolras asked. It sounded fun, but at the same time, they had been purposefully avoiding the crowd. “We’re trying to lie low right now,” he admitted regretfully.

“Oh, please,” Montparnasse scoffed. “After a game like that, do you think anyone will even remember what happened? That was like four hours ago. I’d already forgotten, and I was _there.”_

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, glancing back at Grantaire, who shrugged cheerfully. He slowly smiled and turned back to Montparnasse. “Alright then. I guess we'll stop by.”

They descended the stairs and followed the rest of the school into the gym, where red and blue balloons littered the floor, and fruit punch and ice pops were being passed around. Even the National Academy players and their parents were invited, and were mingling amongst the sea of Corinthe supporters. Bahorel was shaking hands with the Academy captain, and though Montparnasse brightened when he saw him, his expression quickly fell away as he spotted Bahorel’s parents standing right behind him. He looked a bit bereft, too terrified to approach, but then spotted Patron-Minette instead and broke away to go join them.

“Hey!” A hand suddenly clamped down on Enjolras's shoulder and spun him around. It was Courfeyrac, a wide grin on his face. “Did you see me!?” he shouted excitedly.

“Of course I saw you!” Enjolras replied, mirroring his excitement. “You were amazing!”

Courfeyrac grasped him and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Thanks for the rallying speech. Our team needed the inspiration.”

“It was nothing. Really, that was all you guys,” Enjolras insisted.

Courfeyrac released him and smiled again. “I scored the _winning_ goal,” he said, still in awe.

“You did.”

Courfeyrac’s parents walked up to join in on the conversation. “Enjolras!” his mother exclaimed, giving him another hug. “It's so nice to see you. You've been such a good friend to our boy, we were a little sad to hear you wouldn't be rooming with him this year. We heard you moved to a single.”

“Oh, well, sometimes things don't turn out the way you planned,” Enjolras said pleasantly. “This is my new roommate, Grantaire.” He stepped aside to present him to Courfeyrac’s parents.

Grantaire reached out to shake their hands with his right hand, his injured hand hidden tactfully from view.

“I miss Enj, but on the plus side, we have a new friend in our crew,” Courfeyrac added.

“It's very nice to meet you, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac’s dad said. “Glad to hear our son didn't scare you off.”

 _“Dad,”_ Courfeyrac scolded indignantly. “Don't embarrass me.”

Much to Courfeyrac's relief, they were soon joined by Bahorel and his parents, and with the two sets of parents entertaining each other, the boys were able to slip away. They found the rest of their friends in the next room, hanging out by the pool and drinking sodas.

Bossuet and Feuilly waved enthusiastically from a bench as the four of them walked in. Bahorel clapped Enjolras on the back. “Our little cheerleader is here!” he announced.

“What, me!?’ Enjolras looked back at him.

“Couldn't of done it without you,” he said proudly.

“You _could,”_ Enjolras assured him. “But... thanks.”

“What exactly did he do?” Combeferre asked. He was taking off his shoes, getting ready to sit beside Jehan, who had his pants rolled up and his feet dangling in the pool.

“He gave us a little shot of Corinthe pride at half time to get us back on our feet,” Courfeyrac answered.

“It worked,” Feuilly chimed in.

“If my words really did make a difference,” Enjolras said modestly, “then I'm happy to know I could help.”

“Listen, I get that not _everyone_ appreciates your speeches,” Courfeyrac said, leaning on Enjolras’s shoulder and dramatically pausing to make sure the implication of a certain former teacher sunk in. “But trust me, we do. We. Do,” he grinned.

They spent the next half hour recalling each exciting play of the football match, congratulations going all around for each team member's fine work. But eventually, what started out as civil party conversation between young adults turned into a disarray of teenage boy nonsense, with Feuilly and Bossuet whapping each other with balloons, and Courfeyrac tossing aside his cleats, pushing Combeferre into the pool, and jumping in after him. Enjolras, not wanting to risk falling in water with his clothes on for the second time since school began, backed away laughing. “I think it’s time we make our exit,” he whispered, surreptitiously taking Grantaire’s hand and urging him to the door.

“Lead the way,” Grantaire agreed, following after him as they slipped out and left the gym. Enjolras kept hold of his hand all the way back to the dorms.

The halls were empty when they returned, with everyone at the after-party, and the building was quiet. When the door to their room closed behind them, Enjolras finally released his hand. “Let’s move the beds together, while everyone’s gone,” he decided quickly, as he took off his scarf. “There’s no one to wake up right now if it makes any noise.”

“Right,” Grantaire agreed, kicking off his shoes.

Together they lifted first one bed and then the other, teetering across the floor and setting them in the center of the room. The legs scraped across the floorboards as they pushed the beds together, making them wince, but luckily there was no one around to hear it, and their task was done. Enjolras watched, then, his hands resting on the foot of the bed, as Grantaire leaned over to spread the blankets across the joined mattresses. “Good?” he asked him.

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire stopped, one knee still up on the bed, and smiled at him. “I have butterflies.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras smiled back. “Me too.”

Grantaire stood up straight and turned to him. “You’re sure about this, right?”

Enjolras nodded. “I'm sure. Are you?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, and walked over to where his bed used to be. “I just wanted to make certain because,” he stopped and picked up the little shopping bag that had been under his bed, “you were so nervous when you saw this on Saturday.” He came back over and set it down on the bed. “And if you still feel like that, I-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted calmly. “Can we sit down for a moment?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said, obediently sitting down on the bed.

Enjolras came around to sit beside him, pulling his feet up onto the bed to settle in. “Thank you.” He paused, taking time to figure out how he wanted to start before he spoke. “When… when I got to school this year, I had no idea that any of this would happen, you know that. It's been one surprise after another,” he laughed shyly, looking down at his fingers. “You were the biggest surprise. Trust me when I say I never expected to have a relationship like this during my time at Corinthe. I didn't come to school expecting to have a boyfriend or…” He forced himself to look up at Grantaire, even though he was embarrassed to say it out loud. “...To lose my virginity.”

“Neither did I,” Grantaire said softly.

“So… so when I realized that _that_ was a possibility, on Saturday, I was a bit shocked. I mean, we'd already done a couple other things but it didn't cross my mind that we'd go all the way, until then.”

“I think you took it rather well, all things considered,” Grantaire reasoned. “Knowing you.”

Enjolras mouth twisted, trying not to smile. “But once we talked it over, my doubts were gone. And when we were in bed that night, I realized that… I _did_ want to do that, and how it would be so easy just to let it happen naturally. I had to stop myself, because we hadn't decided to keep going. But tonight, I'm telling you now, I want to keep going.”

Grantaire put his hand over Enjolras’s. “Me too.”

“I was afraid last night would be our last night together. Now that we've been given a second chance, I want to make the most of it. I don't need to wait to know that I want to be with you. My mind's made up. My heart is set,” Enjolras breathed out in satisfaction, knowing it was true. After so much confusion, he could finally think clearly. “Does that ease your mind?”

“Very much,” Grantaire nodded, smiling.

“Good,” Enjolras squeezed his hand. They were quiet for a moment, simply holding hands as they sat beside each other on the bed. In the silence came the distant sound of a few students coming up the stairs and disappearing into their dorm rooms down the hall. “Do you have any homework?” Enjolras spoke up again, recalling their usual nightly schedule.

“All those of immediate concern are ready to go,” Grantaire reported. “You?”

“I got all my homework for tomorrow done yesterday.”

“Alright,” Grantaire nodded slowly. He looked at Enjolras, expectant but uncertain. “So what shall we do?”

“I'm going to fix myself up a little,” Enjolras told him, getting up off the bed. “Then I suppose we'll get to it.”

“ _Oh._ Now?” Grantaire asked, sitting up attentively.

“It's a school night, Grantaire. We should go to bed early.” With that Enjolras slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

He splashed water on himself, brushed his teeth, then unfastened his belt and turned his back to the mirror. Letting his pants fall to the floor, he looked over his shoulder to inspect the stripes on his thighs. Thankfully, they were not as pronounced as they had been over the past few days. It would still be some time before they faded away, but at least his skin was recovering from the damage. Turning back around, he decided that he wouldn't let the marks bother him anymore. He had risen above the man who made them, and ensured it wouldn't be happening to anyone else again.

Besides, despite how insecure Enjolras had been about his body, Grantaire still wanted him, flaws and all. He picked up his hairbrush, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he smoothed out his hair. _What do you like best about me?_ he asked Grantaire in his mind. _What is it that you wanted to love? Whatever it is you saw in me, I will always try to be that person for you, Grantaire._

When he opened the bathroom door, he gasped. The lights had been turned off, but on the floor encircling the bed were the candles that Grantaire had bought in town, their tiny flames illuminating the darkness. Grantaire was kneeling on the floor, lighting the last one. “Starting without me?” he asked, noticing that Enjolras had emerged in just his sweater and underwear, pants left on the bathroom tiles.

“You can do the rest,” Enjolras offered, and Grantaire grinned, appeased.

“My turn now,” he said getting up from the floor to head to the bathroom. “I'll be right out.”

When the door closed behind him, Enjolras gazed at the bed and the little lights surrounding it like a fairy ring. It reminded him, he realized, of an altar, and blushed when his fantasy of being an Olympian offering came to mind. He climbed up onto the bed and laid down on his back, stretching across it and enjoying the extra space. Closing his eyes, he listened to the thump of his own heartbeat, and the muffled sounds of Grantaire at the sink on the other side of the bathroom door. He was surprised how calm he felt, though his blood seemed electrically charged as it flowed through his veins, his body acutely aware of what was about to happen right where he lay.

He turned his head when the door opened again. Grantaire was temporarily silhouetted by the bathroom light behind him, standing there in just his boxers, before he flipped the switch and darkness fell. He came over to the bed, stepping over the ring of candlelight, and set a washcloth and the little bottle from his shopping bag at the foot of the bed.

Enjolras shifted onto his side and propped his chin on his hand, watching him. “It seems like you know what you're doing. I keep forgetting you have just as much experience as I do.”

“I wanted to learn. Had many an interesting conversation with experienced friends back home,” Grantaire shrugged, clambering up onto the bed.

“I used to think it was only the bad kids that had sex before university. You know, kids like Parnasse,” Enjolras admitted sheepishly.

“Well, today you declared rebellion against a teacher and I punched him in the face, so who's to say we aren't the bad kids now?” Grantaire asked, crawling closer to Enjolras, the mattress compressing under his weight.

Enjolras smirked. “Sometimes breaking the rules is the right thing to do. Isn't that what you told me?”

“Something like that,” Grantaire smiled. “Sit up.”

Enjolras sat up to face him, and Grantaire gripped the hem of his sweater, pulling it up over his head to leave them both in their underwear.

“It was only a short time ago you were afraid I might see you undressed,” Grantaire remarked.

“Don't make fun,” Enjolras chided.

“I'm not making fun,” Grantaire assured him. “I’m saying how happy I am you opened up to me. So much has changed.”

Enjolras didn't know what to say, but he smiled softly and nodded. It was true, he had changed so much in such a short time. But he was happier for it, and he welcomed it.

“Now lay back,” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras did so, resting his head on the pillow, and anticipating Grantaire’s next command, he slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, ready to pull them down.

“Wait… could I?” Grantaire asked politely.

Enjolras brought his hands back up, nodding his permission, and watched as Grantaire took hold of the underwear instead, raising his hips up helpfully for him to slip them off. Grantaire paused to admire Enjolras’s naked body, but Enjolras pointed to Grantaire's boxers. “Your turn.”

“Oh, yes,” he said hurriedly, rolling onto his back and attempting to wiggle out of them. Enjolras stifled a laugh as he helped him get the boxers off.

Once disrobed, Grantaire cuddled up to him, pressing against him, and settled down. After a moment, he laid a hand on his belly and stroked him pensively, closing his eyes and resting his head on Enjolras's shoulder.

Enjolras relaxed, enjoying Grantaire's soft touches, but the silence made him curious. “What are you thinking about?” he whispered.

“I'm happy to tell you there's nothing on my mind but you,” Grantaire said simply.

Enjolras turned towards him and nosed him affectionately, wrapping his leg around him to pull their bodies closer together. When their lips met, Enjolras kissed him eagerly, unable to keep from smiling as he did. He could feel Grantaire's heart beating against his own, a shared pulse of excitement he could feel all the way down to their hips. They had been naked in the shower together before, but this was different; they were completely exposed together on the bed, without even the blankets covering them up, and Enjolras's insecurities seemed so far behind him.

He knew now he really was falling in love with this boy, who he had once been so convinced he hated. It wasn't Grantaire he had despised, but the ever present feelings of confusion whenever he was around him, when he kept his attraction bottled inside him. Now there was nothing to hold back or hide, no secrets to keep from each other. An inseparable bond had grown between them over the past troubling days, and though the dark times had passed, they wouldn't be letting go.

Grantaire broke the kiss, pausing for breath. Their bodies were still pressed against one another, and Enjolras rolled his hips, feeling how pleasurable it was to rub against him when they were both aroused. A younger, more naive Enjolras had once thought _this_ was what sex between men was, though it certainly felt good even so. Grantaire followed his lead, moving his hips in rhythm with Enjolras's, and let out a groan of satisfaction. “We should do this all the time,” he mumbled, sounding half drunk.

“Only in here,” Enjolras teased, biting his lip to hold back a smirk. “Class is off limits.”

Grantaire laughed, burying his head in Enjolras’s neck, and Enjolras put a hand in his hair, petting his dark curls.

“I know we’re the bad kids now,” Enjolras continued jokingly, “but that's one step further than I'm willing to-”

He stopped short as he heard footsteps and voices nearby out in the hallway, and he sucked in his breath, alerting Grantaire. Their hips froze in place as they paused to listen. “Did you lock the door?” Enjolras whispered hastily.

“No,” Grantaire shook his head.

“Get under the covers,” Enjolras prodded him, and they quickly scrambled to hide their naked bodies beneath the blankets.

“...we've _never_ had a comeback like that before,” the voice in the hallway said as the words became audible. It was Bahorel, still sounding awestruck. “That was incredible.”

“You were incredible,” Montparnasse answered. They were trying to keep their voices down, but with Enjolras and Grantaire keeping deadly quiet they could be heard through the crack under the door.

“Maybe it was that kiss, huh?” Bahorel purred as he unlocked his room.

“I'd like to think so… oh, I should get my pajamas.”

“You don't need pajamas.”

 _“Bahorel,”_ Montparnasse gasped, pretending to be scandalized.

“Borrow mine if you want,” Bahorel answered innocently, before the door closed behind them.

“...There's romance in the air on this side of the dorms tonight,” Grantaire joked in a whisper, and Enjolras laughed, the two of them letting out breaths of relief. Grantaire slipped out from under the covers, walking across the illuminated floor and pressing in the lock on the doorknob. “There,” he said cheerily.

Enjolras nodded, making a note to do so next time, and every time. He didn't think he could live down being caught in the act, even if it was by one of his closest friends. Courfeyrac only knocked half of the time when he was visiting other dorm rooms.

Grantaire clambered back into bed, pulling the covers aside to get to Enjolras. He lay down, pressing up against him once more, and took hold of Enjolras’s thigh, hiking it up near his waist to mimic the position they had been in before they were interrupted. “Where were we?” he asked casually.

Enjolras grinned, leaning in to kiss him and trying not to laugh. He felt giddy, his heart still racing. Now that they hadn't been caught, the scare did seem a little thrilling in hindsight. “Here, I believe,” Enjolras replied, rubbing his hips against him to revive their excitement.

“Mmmmnn,” Grantaire groaned with satisfaction, reaching up to stroke Enjolras’s hair. “Rooming with you is the best.”

Enjolras held back another laugh. “I'm not just a roommate,” he scolded, nosing him.

“I know. Boyfriend,” Grantaire agreed, his fingers scritching Enjolras’s head. “But I have the benefits of _rooming_ with my boyfriend, too.”

“Don't even have to sneak in,” Enjolras added softly.

“Not at all. I can be with you all night, exactly where I should be,” Grantaire said proudly.

“Mhm,” Enjolras nodded contentedly, closing his eyes as his hips idly rubbed up against Grantaire.

“You know, I could just let you do this all night,” Grantaire whispered teasingly in his ear.

“Nnn… you could, but then we'd both be missing out,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Hm, you have a point. Shall we keep going then?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras replied sincerely, opening his eyes to meet Grantaire's.

“Okay,” Grantaire nodded, giving him another kiss before he sat up. Enjolras glimpsed him picking up the little bottle at the end of the bed, attending to the matter of getting it open. He looked over his shoulder with a sheepish grin. “I only _think_ I know what I'm doing,” he said modestly.

“We'll figure it out together, I suppose,” Enjolras said hopefully.

“Can't be that difficult,” Grantaire said as he lay back down. Enjolras wrapped his leg around him again as he settled back in place, their noses almost touching. “I'll go slow.”

Enjolras nodded, waiting. Then he felt it, cool and slick between his legs. “Is that-”

“Just my finger,” Grantaire told him. “Okay?”

Enjolras nodded again, holding onto Grantaire as he felt it slowly push inside. He took a deep breath, trying to fight the natural urge of embarrassment. _Really, this isn't any worse than what we've already done,_ he reasoned, considering the fact he had already let Grantaire put his mouth all over the most vulnerable part of his body. The thought comforted him, and he slowly let out his breath, getting used to the fact that Grantaire had a finger inside him. “I'm fine,” he reassured him. “It doesn't feel like much.”

“Alright.”

But Enjolras gasped, and held onto him a little tighter, when Grantaire added another finger.

“Feeling it now?” Grantaire asked. “Remember to try and relax.”

Enjolras nodded. “Talk to me,” he whispered. “Please, that will help.”

“Oh, okay. Hmm…” Grantaire contemplated, as he slowly moved his fingers inside him. “How was your day, Enj?” he asked casually.

Enjolras couldn't help but laugh, and strangely it helped him relax. “Some romantic you are,” he commented under his breath.

Grantaire bit back a grin, pleased he could make Enjolras laugh. “I take it the day didn't go as planned?” he continued.

“No, no it didn't,” Enjolras giggled, indulging him. “You could say some of it was a real pain the ass…”

Grantaire almost laughed along with him, but then he stopped, concern knitting his brows. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, no.” Enjolras shook his head dismissively, casting aside the joke. “It was odd at first, but it's…”

“Better now?” Grantaire asked, moving his fingers again, softer and slower this time.

“Yes,” Enjolras said, and as he felt Grantaire's fingers massaging him from within he realized it did feel better, even a bit pleasurable. He closed his eyes and concentrated on each breath, and Grantaire's warmth beside him, lulling him into a state of comfort. Then he began to move against his fingers, his hips angling for Grantaire to brush against somewhere within that felt particularly nice. Each time he did, Enjolras’s breath hitched and he felt a little rush of sensation, building up inside him.

“What does it feel like?” Grantaire asked curiously.

“Like… like you've found something I didn't know about,” Enjolras said distractedly.

“Good, right?” Grantaire prompted.

“Uh huh…” Enjolras pushed against him, his erection rubbing on Grantaire's belly.

Grantaire kissed him, his tongue slipping into his mouth like an echo of what was going on down below. The idea of Grantaire surrounding him like this made him dizzy, but even more aroused. This was the feeling he had in his fantasies, this overwhelming urge to give over control, just for once, to the stranger, the satyr, the boy who came to claim him. Enjolras let the kiss overtake him for a moment before he turned away to breathe, feeling lightheaded from sharing each breath with Grantaire. “I… I think I'm ready, if you are,” he panted, knowing that if Grantaire didn't stop what he was doing, he'd finish him off right there.

“Okay,” Grantaire said with a slight waver in his voice, as if he were still in disbelief that he had permission to proceed with what he was about to do. He slowly eased his fingers out, and then his hand went between his legs, taking hold of himself. Enjolras could hear the excitement in Grantaire’s breath as he paused, though whether he was nervous or simply savoring the moment it was hard to tell.

Enjolras lifted his leg a little higher around Grantaire’s waist, readying himself, and looked up to meet his eyes. Grantaire’s gaze was so full of devotion, it made Enjolras’s butterflies return, his heart beating faster. Heat flushed his cheeks. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“As you wish,” Grantaire whispered reverently. He kissed him again, soft and sweet, and pressed in closer… closer...

Enjolras felt it then, the real thing. Grantaire's cock, slick from his fingers, brushed up beneath Enjolras’s thighs in search of its destination. Grantaire fumbled blindly at first, but then he fit himself against Enjolras’s entrance and slowly, carefully pushed inside. With a loud gasping breath, Enjolras gripped Grantaire's shoulders, and Grantaire wrapped his arms around him in turn, his face pressing against Enjolras’s neck, his hair against his cheek.

Enjolras ached, but it wasn't pain, not like the kind of pain he had felt the week before. It was somehow relieving, a cathartic ache as he got used to Grantaire's cock inside him, thicker than his two fingers had been. He felt Grantaire's heart beating in time with his own, their chests rising and falling together with each breath they took, calming each other. Grantaire turned his head so his lips were near Enjolras’s ear, and whispered his name softly, the sound a gentle proclamation of worship. _“Enjolras.”_

 _“Grantaire,”_ Enjolras answered back, holding him tightly. The initial shock he had felt from penetration had already faded, and now he simply felt secure in Grantaire's embrace, connected to him physically, tangibly. He might have lain with him like this forever, but on a school night, forever wasn't exactly an option.

Enjolras shifted his hips experimentally, and Grantaire stirred, as if awakening from a spell that had pacified him as soon as he entered Enjolras. He gave a low moan as he nearly pulled out of him, feeling what it was like to move inside him, before pushing himself all the way in once more. “How's that?” he asked.

Enjolras let out his breath, his body quickly recovering. “I'm.. I’m fine,” he told him truthfully, placing a hand on Grantaire's cheek and feeling the faint beginnings of stubble returning. “Just go slow.”

Grantaire nodded silently, his eyes fluttering closed as he continued, slow and steady, rolling his hips to draw himself halfway out and back in again. Enjolras couldn't help but make a sound, and then another, a soft gasp each time Grantaire sheathed himself inside. He could feel Grantaire pushing up against the spot within him his fingers had found, yet it seemed more of a tease now, short glimpses of pleasure that disappeared each time he drew back his hips. But there was something else, and that was the coarse hair on Grantaire's lower belly, rubbing on the underside of Enjolras's arousal, the sensation making him shiver and reminding him all over again of the satyr he imagined Grantaire to be. But there was no need to fantasize himself as the Greek boy, for here he was already laid on a candlelit altar, being taken by the boy of his dreams.

Enjolras hooked his leg securely around Grantaire’s thigh to hold him inside as he rolled onto his back, pulling Grantaire on top of him. “Oh,” Grantaire remarked curiously at the new position, before another drawn out “Ohhhhh,” as he realized how different it felt, and how much deeper he could go as Enjolras lifted both legs and wrapped them around his waist. Grantaire buried himself inside him, and Enjolras closed his eyes, gripping Grantaire’s muscular shoulders as he continued to thrust inside, his hips moving faster. They were beyond words now, their communication reduced to soft sounds and touch as they began to lose themselves in each other, Grantaire's hand roaming distractedly up Enjolras’s side and back down.

Though they didn't speak, the sound of their breathing surrounded each other, Grantaire’s low grunts of effort and Enjolras's exhalations each time Grantaire pushed against his body. He vaguely wondered if they could be heard, and yet it was a distant thought, when everything outside their room didn’t seem to matter anymore. The only thing that made sense was that they were together in every sense of the word, forever entwined on this fateful day in their lives. _Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire,_ his mind called out silently in rhythm with their bodies, as he held on tightly to him.

Grantaire leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, as if he had sensed Enjolras’s mental cry. They were both breathing too heavily to share a kiss but their noses met, and he could feel Grantaire’s warm breath upon his lips. Every touch, every heartbeat reminded him that this was real, not one of the stolen moments with the Grantaire in his mind and in his dreams. This Grantaire, the boy above him, inside him, had really and truly thrown himself in harm’s way today because he loved him, and fought for him with nothing but his bare hands. And while the thought filled Enjolras’s heart with love, it also fueled his desire, so strong now he could hardly bear it.

And suddenly he _couldn’t_ bear it anymore, and he arched against Grantaire, opening his mouth to let out a cry he was helpless to hold back. Grantaire stopped for a second, shocked by the sound and seeming afraid he had hurt him, before he realized that Enjolras had simply spent himself between their bellies, and huffed a sigh of relief. He brushed Enjolras’s hair off his forehead and kissed there affectionately before he began to move inside him again in an effort to catch up. Enjolras’s eyes fluttered closed, and he let Grantaire rock him on the mattress as he felt himself drifting in sweet darkness. His heart pounded steadily, his body pulsing around Grantaire’s cock, and soon Grantaire was the one who couldn't help himself, low desperate groans emitting from his throat. Enjolras put a hand on the back of Grantaire’s head and pulled him closer, hiding his face against his neck to muffle the sound. Grantaire’s panting breaths tickled his skin, making him shiver involuntarily as Grantaire’s hips thrust faster, harder, pushing himself deeper inside Enjolras and then… he stilled.

Grantaire was tense, his body shaking, before he relaxed with a long exhalation, his body collapsed on top of Enjolras. They were both damp with sweat, and Enjolras felt the heat of Grantaire’s exertions and his cock growing soft inside him. Grantaire raised his head and gave him a soft smile, and Enjolras smiled gently in return, running a comforting hand down Grantaire’s back. Grantaire’s gaze moved down to his lips and he leaned in to kiss him, a grateful, lingering kiss, before pulling back to catch his breath.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras murmured hazily.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire answered back, laying his head back down.

That was all they wanted to say. Enjolras lazily stroked his hair as their hearts returned to a resting beat, and eventually Grantaire stirred, slipping out of Enjolras and sitting up to retrieve the cloth at the end of the bed. He cleaned up their bellies, and between Enjolras's legs, before leaving the bed and returning with a cup of cold water from the bathroom.

Enjolras sat up to take it appreciatively, his throat feeling raw from all the gasping and panting, and took a long sip. As he gave it back, he let his fingers brush over Grantaire’s hands, passing the cup over reverently. He remembered so clearly when Grantaire had tried to teach him to draw it, though the only thing Enjolras had truly learned in that afternoon art lesson was how much he had wanted to kiss Grantaire. He could never have imagined then that they would end up where they were now.

Enjolras watched thoughtfully as Grantaire set aside the cup and bent down, picking up each candle, blowing them out and setting them on his nightstand one by one. Each time the room grew a little dimmer, until finally they were left in complete darkness. Then Grantaire found Enjolras’s hand and gently pulled him up off the bed to lead him to the bathroom.

Enjolras felt strange on his feet now that he was upright, all achey and bow-legged, but he laughed at himself, a little embarrassed, and held onto Grantaire's arm tightly. Grantaire, sensing what was wrong, simply swept him up into his arms, much to Enjolras’s surprise, and carried him to the bathroom. Enjolras hadn't known Grantaire was that strong, but he realized contentedly, resting his head on Grantaire's shoulder, that he should have guessed as much.

Grantaire set him down in the shower and together they rinsed off the sweat and scents of the night, the faint smell of cologne finally washing away. Afterward, they dried themselves off, and once the towels had dropped to the tile floor, Grantaire carefully led Enjolras back to bed, where they lay down together once more.

Grantaire pulled the blankets up over them and lay back against the pillow. “Good?” he whispered.

Enjolras cuddled up to him and nodded sleepily. “Very good.” He closed his eyes as Grantaire wrapped his arms around him, but spoke up again as a thought came to mind. “I'm glad we waited one more day. It doesn't seem like much but…” Tonight, instead of worrying about what was to come tomorrow, he would be falling asleep at peace in Grantaire's arms.

“Sometimes one day more is all you need,” Grantaire agreed. “Anything can happen.”

Enjolras smiled to himself in the darkness. “Everything happened.”

“I'm so happy it did,” Grantaire whispered, running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair.

“Mhmm. Goodnight, Grantaire.”

“Goodnight.”

There was no surprise this time, when he woke up the next morning. He wasn't confused to find himself in the improvised bed in the center of the room again, or shocked to realize he had fallen asleep naked for the first time in his adult life. Waking up beside Grantaire was something he was getting used to, and even their newest form of intimacy seemed natural. Enjolras thought he might have even dreamed of being with Grantaire all over again, the memory seemed so close at hand.

A glance at the clock told him there was only a few minutes until the alarm went off, and when he turned back to Grantaire, he was stirring as well, feeling Enjolras moving beside him. Grantaire opened his eyes, but his eyelids were still heavy, blinking in the patch of daylight streaming over the bed. He managed a sleepy smile. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Is that a new nickname?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Just commenting on your hair,” he said, reaching out to ruffle it. “Behold this golden angel,” he joked, and Enjolras knew that his hair must have looked a mess after the night before.

He squirmed, pulling his head out from under Grantaire's hand, and hid his face in the pillow instead. He felt Grantaire run a hand down his back, a consoling gesture.

“Are you okay?” he asked, changing his tone to one of gentle concern. “Will you be alright to go to class?”

Enjolras raised his head. “I'm fine, really.”

“Last night, you were a bit shaky on your feet.”

“That was right after. Don't worry.” Enjolras sat up experimentally, and amended his initial lack of concern. “It's not so bad,” he noted. His inner thighs were sore, his ab muscles ached, but all in all it was a good sort of pain, as if he had been working out at the gym all night. Perhaps not so long ago he might have complained about it, but compared to the pain he had felt last week, this was nothing. This was only a side effect of love. Somehow he felt stronger for it, knowing it would only serve as a reminder of his new life that day, and everything that had changed the evening before.

“Oof,” Grantaire winced as he sat up, and laughed, embarrassed at himself.

“Oh good, it's not just me,” Enjolras said.

“Feels like I did two hundred sit-ups last night,” Grantaire grunted, his hand tentatively prodding at his stomach.

“Those experienced friends didn't tell you about this part, huh?”

“No,” Grantaire gave him a lopsided smile, shaking his head.

They were interrupted by the alarm, and Enjolras untangled himself from the sheets to turn it off. Thankfully, he was much steadier on his feet this time, as he stepped out onto the floorboards.

“Sooo beautiful,” Grantaire mused from the bed, and Enjolras looked down at himself, realizing his naked body was practically glowing in the sunlight.

“Stop,” he blushed, turning to open the drawers and lay out his clothing for the day, though secretly, he was pleased.

When Grantaire had risen out of bed and they were both mostly washed and dressed, they set to work returning the beds to their rightful positions. “Are we going do this every night?” Grantaire asked, as they carefully lifted Enjolras’s bed and carried it back to his side of the room.

“If you mean rearranging the furniture, I'd say we can save that for special occasions,” Enjolras decided as they set it down.“We already know we can do fine with just one bed.”

“Sure can,” Grantaire agreed cheekily, as they carefully pushed the bed into place against the wall and went to lift the other. Just as they hauled it up off the ground, the doorknob rattled. They both froze, and again the doorknob shook.

“Why is this locked?” Courfeyrac mumbled on the other side. “I know you guys are in there, I just heard you,” he said louder.

Grantaire’s eyes widened, but Enjolras jerked his head in the direction of where Grantaire’s bed belonged, urging him to continue. “I'm, uhh, getting dressed, hold on,” Enjolras called, trying his best to disguise the effort of carrying the bed in his voice.

“I lived with you for two and a half years, Enj, I've seen your underwear,” Courfeyrac replied impatiently.

Enjolras and Grantaire shuffled into the corner to put down the bed, and as Enjolras set his end down, Grantaire fumbled trying to get out from around his and dropped it unceremoniously with a thump. Enjolras grit his teeth.

“What was that?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Um, Grantaire stubbed his toe,” Enjolras announced quickly. “On the nightstand.”

“Ow,” Grantaire latently added.

“Tough break,” Courfeyrac commented.

Enjolras finally went to the door, pretending to be fastening a button as he opened it. “Sorry,” he said with a shake of his head. “It's been one of those mornings.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac agreed. “Well. Sister Simplice told me to send a message down the hallway that the assembly about you-know-what is at 8 AM.”

“Instead of class,” Enjolras replied for confirmation.

“That's how it seems.”

“Then I didn't even need to get up” Grantaire stated flatly, pausing in the middle of tying his tie.

“You don't want to go?” Courfeyrac asked. “The guest of honor won't be attending?”

“I don't need the entire school staring at me in one big room, thanks,” Grantaire said, carelessly tossing away his tie. “I never wanted to be famous.”

“Says the star of the school play,” Courfeyrac smirked. “Well. Your choice. Enj?”

Enjolras hesitated, then shook his head. As much as he liked to keep abreast of all the going-ons at Corinthe, he was all too well informed about the situation at hand. He didn't need to relive the experience. “No thanks.”

“Alright, but at least come to breakfast with us.”

“Sure,” Enjolras agreed, resting his cheek on the side of the door.

Courfeyrac turned to knock on Bahorel’s door, and Enjolras suddenly straightened, stepping out into the hallway after him. “I'll tell Bahorel,” he said quickly, gently pushing Courfeyrac away. “I have to talk to him anyway, don't worry, I'll pass along the message.”

“Okay, okay,” Courfeyrac said indignantly, looking back at him in confusion. “Take care of it then. I'll see you at breakfast.”

“Yup,” Enjolras nodded, waiting as Courfeyrac disappeared down the hall, before knocking quickly on the door. He heard whispers and a scrambling that certainly seemed relatable, before Bahorel opened the door a crack and looked out suspiciously. “It’s just me,” Enjolras assured him. “Assembly at 8. Go to the auditorium, not to class. Tell Parnasse.”

“I heard you,” came Montparnasse's voice from somewhere behind Bahorel.

“Good,” Enjolras nodded.

“Thanks,” Bahorel smiled guiltily.

“No problem. Listen, you didn't hear... anything out of the ordinary last night, did you?” he asked casually.

“Trust me, Enj, I was too busy to concentrate on whatever you were doing in there with Grantaire,” Bahorel smirked.

Enjolras’s cheeks darkened. “Uh… um…”

“To answer your question, I didn't hear anything at all,” Bahorel said innocently, and closed the door.

Enjolras stared at the door, but Grantaire stood waiting for him in their doorway across the hall. “You said we were going to breakfast, right?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said distractedly, returning to their bedroom to retrieve his blazer and bag. As they were leaving the room, Enjolras noticed Grantaire hadn't bothered to put his tie back on. “Grantaire. Valjean just saved you from expulsion and you're going to go out like that?” he chastised.

“Oh no, what will Javert do?” Grantaire said with mock concern.

Enjolras twisted his mouth in annoyance. “I'll have you know it was Fauchelevent that gave you your first detention.”

“I like gardening,” Grantaire said defiantly, then sighed. “It's just breakfast, Enj.”

Enjolras crossed his arms and waited.

Grantaire attempted to stare him down, but ended up grinning instead. Enjolras turned his face away to hide the smile that was creeping up his own lips. “Fine,” Grantaire conceded, swiping his tie up off the ground.

“Let me do it,” Enjolras insisted, stepping over to him, taking the tie from his hands and looping it around his neck.

“Give me a kiss,” Grantaire said impishly, as Enjolras knotted the tie.

“No,” Enjolras said shortly.

 _“Yes,”_ Grantaire corrected.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Enjolras looked up at him impatiently, then leaned in with exasperation and gave him a quick kiss.

“Mmmmm,” Grantaire purred in satisfaction, pleased he had gotten his way.

“You promise me now, not just for Valjean but for me, that you’ll be a model student,” Enjolras said seriously as he pulled back, staring up into his eyes. “You’ll follow all the rules that need following. Because you’re going to stay at Corinthe with me, and you’re going to graduate with me, and you’re going to have a perfect record so you can go to university with me. Okay?”

Grantaire’s eyes widened, looking speechless for a moment, before he nodded quickly. “Okay,” he nodded, smiling in awe. “I can do that. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras gave him another kiss, this time sincerely, before he released his tie. “There you go.” He shouldered his bag and turned for the door.

“Enj.”

“Hm?”

“Promise me you won't break my heart?” Grantaire asked imploringly, still standing where he was.

Enjolras smiled. “I promise.”

Grantaire nodded, his cheeks flushed, but then he straightened his tie matter-of-factly, composing himself in a gentlemanly manner. “Breakfast, shall we?”

“After you,” Enjolras replied, holding the door open for him.

They met their friends at the cafeteria for a breakfast of eggs and danishes, with Grantaire slouching down to keep a low profile during the meal, and afterward they parted ways. Grantaire went back to the room, while the rest of their friends headed for the auditorium for the assembly. Enjolras however, made his way to the academic building. As he walked across the courtyard, he felt a dull muscular ache, all over and inside him, there to remind him of last night. The feeling wasn’t so shameful, like the last time he had been in pain. This time he carried with him a secret he was proud of, one that lifted him up, instead of bringing him down. He had made Grantaire a man last night, so the saying went, and Grantaire had done the same for him. He bit back a grin, and tugged open the heavy door to the academic building.

He made his way to the mathematics lecture hall, as if first period would be occurring there as usual. Since the teachers has already attended Valjean’s meeting the day before, he found Monsieur Thenardier sitting at his desk, looking over student assignments. “Sir?” Enjolras asked cautiously, his footsteps echoing as he entered.

“Eh?” Thenardier questioned, looking up at him.

“I was wondering if I could make up the quiz I missed last week.”

Thenardier studied him with a puzzled expression, as if he were trying to figure out whether Enjolras was supposed to be there or not. “Well. No time like the present,” he conceded gruffly, opening his desk drawer and extracting a copy of last week’s quiz.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, taking it over to one of the many empty seats. He hadn’t studied since Sunday, but luckily it didn’t seem like he needed any more practice, even with all of yesterday’s distractions. He worked diligently through each problem, glancing up at one point to find Thenardier staring at him with concern, almost as if he were afraid of him. It bewildered him, and Enjolras sat there confused for a moment, before he put two and two together. Javert had lost his job, thanks in part to him. Thenardier had reason to be intimidated. Enjolras smiled to himself as he looked down to the next math problem. _Valjean will be hearing all about the faculty at our student council meeting tomorrow,_ he thought. _But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. You haven’t exactly gotten on my bad side, yet._

“Here, Monsieur,” Enjolras said when he had finished, going up to the teacher’s desk to hand over the test. “Thank you.”

“Let’s just, uh, grade it right here, then,” Thenardier suggested, picking up a red pen. Enjolras waited as Thenardier inspected the quiz, muttering over the answers, pinpointing a red dot on each one. “A-all correct,” he announced, giving him a toothy smile as he reached the bottom of the paper. “Congratulations, Monsieur Enjolras.”

“Thank you, sir,” Enjolras replied with a nod, still rather amused by Thenardier’s tame demeanor. “I studied.” With that, he turned and exited the lecture hall.

As he was leaving the academic building, he paused at the water fountain to take a drink. Above it hung the bulletin board announcing various upcoming student activities. An empty space was left where a flyer had recently been torn down, perhaps an expired advertisement for the club fair. Enjolras paused to stare at the empty space, wiping the water from his lips, and suddenly an idea came to mind. Immediately, he set off for the dorms.

He found Grantaire sitting on his bed, looking at the erotic Greek book again, and tried not to smile as Grantaire sat up and pretended he had somehow been doing something else, surreptitiously pushing the book aside. Enjolras didn't mind. “Can I borrow your red paint?” he asked, by way of greeting.

“Going to a protest?” Grantaire joked.

“No. But I might need some help. How good are you with lettering?”

In half an hour’s time, they managed to create four identical flyers, to Enjolras's specifications. On the top half of each one, Grantaire had carefully painted “JOIN ABC” in red and below it, Enjolras had written out the details in black felt pen. The flyers invited students to come to the amphitheater on Friday night, when there was no play practice, for an impromptu open house where they could learn all about the club. Enjolras proudly gazed at their work, and retrieving pins from his desk, they went off to go hang them on the bulletin boards. They pinned one up in the dormitory mail room, one in the Great Hall, and one in the academic building, filling up the empty space that had inspired Enjolras.

They pinned the last flyer to the board in the entrance hall of the fine arts building. Directly across from the board were the double doors leading to the auditorium, and as they stood there, they could hear the muffled sounds of Valjean’s voice coming from within. Grantaire stared at the auditorium doors, cocking his head to listen. “C’mon,” Enjolras urged, tugging him gently towards the exit out to the courtyard, even though he felt the pull of curiosity as well.

“No, I want to see,” Grantaire protested. “They've been in there for a while.” He extracted himself from Enjolras's grip and went over to the doors, opening one a crack. Suddenly Valjean’s amplified voice was clear. “It's easy to think,” he was saying solemnly, “that you are powerless, when someone in a position above you is hurting you. I want you to know that there is always something you can do. Here at Corinthe I will not be turning a blind eye to such abuses, whether they be between teacher and student, or peer to peer. In the future, if you suspect that you, or a friend, or a roommate-”

Grantaire let the door fall closed.

Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder. “See? It’s good message. Nothing to worry about,” Enjolras assured him. “It sounds like Valjean’s getting everything taken care of.”

“Yeah, it does,” Grantaire agreed, looking relieved, and walked with him out of the building.

The assembly did eventually end, and second period proceeded as usual. Enjolras sat in his English class with Madame Thenardier, noticing that his fellow senior students were eyeing him with curious concern when they got the chance. He realized now that they must have been informed, somewhat, of what Javert had done to him. How else could Valjean communicate that Grantaire’s actions were self defense? But even if it was no longer a secret anymore, Enjolras realized there was no need to be ashamed. “I’m alright,” he said in English to the other students, as per the rules of speaking in Madame Thenardier’s classroom. He sat up straighter, tilting his chin up with pride. “Corinthe will be better than ever now.” Madame Thenardier looked wary, just as her husband had that morning, but Enjolras smiled because he knew he spoke the truth.

He met up with Grantaire outside of the Classics classroom, and together they walked out to the courtyard on their way to lunch. “Did studying my book win you any extra credit?” Enjolras teased. “You know so much more about Ancient Greece now, don’t you?”

Grantaire elbowed him, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s a healthy curiosity,” he said defensively. “I believe my studies will benefit you.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to blush. “T-that’s true,” he agreed, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair behind his ear. “Feel free to peruse at your leisure, then.”

“I’ll make sure to report my findings,” Grantaire said casually, giving him a wink.

Enjolras grinned conspiratorially, linking arms with him. But as they reached the Great Hall and entered the cafeteria together, he was suddenly caught off guard. The voices of students waiting in line and setting trays on tables died away, all pairs of eyes turning in their direction. They both froze, Enjolras slowly releasing Grantaire and staring back at the crowd in confusion. Then he spotted Courfeyrac standing up importantly on a chair, raising his hands with a flourish, and applauding. Maddeningly, most of the other students joined in, clapping enthusiastically, while freshmen who still didn't know who Javert, Enjolras, or Grantaire were looked simply bewildered. “I'm going to kill him,” Enjolras muttered, glaring daggers at Courfeyrac, but Grantaire seemingly seized the moment and took an affected bow.

“One more with me, Enj, c’mon,” Grantaire said as he came up, clasping his hand firmly.

“This is stupid,” Enjolras grumbled, but found himself stifling a laugh after he took a bow with Grantaire, as if they had just performed Hamlet. “Enough,” Enjolras said, tugging him directly over to the lunch table, foregoing the line. “You're awful,” he told Courfeyrac.

“Credit where credit is due, just making sure everyone knows who banished evil from our school,” Courfeyrac said, patting him on the back.

“I saw the flyers!” Combeferre exclaimed, poking his head eagerly around Courfeyrac.

“We made them in our free time this morning,” Enjolras said proudly. “Grantaire and I.”

“They're perfect,” Combeferre praised. “Well done.”

“I never made flyers before,” Enjolras said, a little awed that he now had the opportunity.

“Can you imagine what our former Society president would say about that?” Courfeyrac smirked.

Enjolras knew quite well how he would have felt about it. He would have thought it cheap, unsophisticated, and of course, completely ruinous to their carefully cultivated membership. “It's not his club anymore. It's ours now,” Enjolras boasted happily. “We decide the rules.”

“That's right,” Combeferre agreed. “It's a whole new club this year.”

 _And if it weren't for Grantaire,_ Enjolras thought, glancing fondly in his direction, _I suppose we'd still be the same._

When they had finally acquired their food and sat down to eat with the rest of their friends, Bossuet asked Grantaire to tell his side of the story, now that he had recovered enough from yesterday. So he did, and as he spoke he grinned, pleased that everyone at the table was leaning in to listen. He told his tale spiritedly like a Shakespearean monologue, gesturing broadly in reenactment and leaving the other boys entranced as if it were the first time they had heard of it.

Enjolras watched in wonder as well, mesmerized by how naturally Grantaire captured their admiration. He was charismatic, smiling, sociable, fitting in so easily in this tight-knit group. _You really do belong with us, Grantaire,_ he thought proudly. Among these boys here at Corinthe, he knew that Grantaire would have the best friends he could ever ask for. They meant the world to Enjolras, and he found himself wondering if any of them suspected, besides Bahorel, how much Grantaire meant to him too. He couldn't tell them yet, of course, but perhaps someday he and Grantaire would be able to share with them the rest of this story that for now remained secret.

After lunch they parted in high spirits, and Enjolras went on to attend his third period afternoon class, Religion. He turned in his essay on faith to Father Myriel, who unlike the Thenardiers seemed to be in a jolly mood. Between that and a few subtle comments of support he made during their lesson, Enjolras couldn't help but wonder if he was in fact delighted that Javert had been dismissed. Myriel loved teaching, loved his students, and loved Corinthe so much he lived at the school. It wasn't hard to guess where his loyalties lay. As Enjolras was leaving at the end of class, he decided that Father Myriel might have just become his favorite teacher.

For his last course of the day, he reunited with Grantaire in the art classroom, where it was back to work on self portraiture. Bamatabois had already curated _Red and Black_ for the eventual self portrait gallery show, so Enjolras was encouraged to experiment at his whim. He sat at his easel applying red and white paint in an abstract mess, thought he made an attempt this time to make his splashes in deliberate patterns and pleasing shapes.

When he looked over at Grantaire’s work halfway through class, his eyes widened. Grantaire had painted over most of his Hamlet-themed self portrait, completely changing the colors on the canvas. “What are you doing?” Enjolras asked, slipping off his stool to see what Grantaire was up to.

“Look,” he smiled, stepping back as Enjolras came over. The deep blacks were gone, the somber clothing and dark background removed. Instead he was painting a bright, pastoral scene around his portrait in the middle, and in place of any clothing his shoulders were now simply bare. On his head, the beginnings of two golden horns emerged from his wild hair. He was painting himself as a satyr.

Enjolras’s eyes widened with delight, and he held back a devious smile as he looked from Grantaire to the painting again. “Your true self portrait?”

“I feel I may have moved out of my darker phase,” Grantaire explained, adopting the airs of a famous artist. “I'm experiencing new inspirations. It's the start of my new Greek mythology series, _My Past Life as a Satyr.”_

“Just keep it class appropriate,” Enjolras whispered with a smirk.

“You too, dear,” he hissed back, his eyes darting to Enjolras’s canvas meaningfully. “I know what's on your mind today.”

Enjolras looked back at his painting, thick white paint splattered all over the red background. He went red himself in realization as he turned to face Grantaire again. “I don't know what you're insinuating,” Enjolras said primly. “It's an abstract.”

“You know exactly what I'm insinuating. Can't fool me,” Grantaire teased, and playfully swiped his paintbrush at him, leaving a dollop of gold on Enjolras’s nose.

Enjolras gasped indignantly, and made a grab for Grantaire’s paintbrush as he held it out of reach. He made a few more attempts before Bamatabois interrupted. “What's going on over there?” The teacher called from the other side of the room.

“Nothing, nothing,” Grantaire said innocently, as Enjolras quickly turned back to his easel. He stuck his tongue out at Grantaire as he sat down, rubbing the paint off his nose, but when Grantaire grinned back and winked, he found he couldn't be angry with him. Instead he simply decided to change the color on his brush to blue, foregoing adding any more white paint to his canvas.

At the end of class, he was able to take his second painting from Friday back with him, the red and green _Clash of the Roommates,_ now thoroughly dry. He walked down the stairs with it tucked under his arm, Grantaire beside him.

“Model student, huh?” Enjolras started, eyeing him.

“Does getting paint on your nose count as bad behavior?” Grantaire asked nonchalantly.

 _“Teasing me_ does,” Enjolras explained. “Setting me off. You know that's had some disastrous outcomes.”

“Sounds like someone else needs to exercise a little self control then, too,” Grantaire said, pinching Enjolras’s side as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Enjolras shied away from the touch, though he conceded Grantaire was right. “Next time.”

“Next time,” Grantaire agreed. They stood there for a moment, about to go their separate ways with Grantaire bound for the amphitheater. “Hey, uh… would you want to come watch rehearsal tonight?” he asked. “I mean, if that interests you.”

“Sure, if you don't mind me bringing my homework,” Enjolras said, brightening. “Let me put this away first and I'll meet you there.”

Grantaire looked down at the painting in Enjolras’s hands. “Wouldn't that just beat all if you were the one who ended up a famous artist someday?” he mused, almost envious.

“Not to worry, Grantaire,” Enjolras said coolly. “I hear the spouses of famous artists live quite the lifestyle.”

Grantaire turned pink, giving him a lopsided smile, and pushed him away. _“Ridiculous._ Off with you. Go on, get out of here”

Enjolras laughed and scampered out the door.

At the dorm room, he almost unthinkingly stashed the canvas under the bed. But after a glance at all the space on his wall, he changed his mind and decided to take pride in his work. He took a pin from his desk and climbed up on the bed, carefully hanging his painting beside Grantaire’s drawing of Lamarque and Enjolras in the park. It was now their third piece of art, along with Grantaire’s Hamlet across the room. Enjolras wondered if it wouldn't be long before the walls would be covered with their creations.

He retrieved the things he would need for tomorrow’s homework, and left the room, bound for the Hamlet rehearsal. When he headed down the stairs, he found Sister Simplice sorting the day’s mail into the student mailboxes on the first floor. “Monsieur Enjolras, can you tell Monsieur Grantaire a letter arrived for him?” she asked as he passed by, waving an envelope at the top of pile she was holding in her hands.

Enjolras stopped, elated. “Could I take it to him, please?”

She gave him a look, uncertain, but at the same time she conceded that he of all people would know to be respectful of his roommate’s mail, and reluctantly handed it over. “Make sure he gets it,” she said sternly.

“I will!” he called as he ran off.

He made his way back to the fine arts building, navigating behind it to the amphitheater, excited to present the letter. Grantaire was already on the stage with Marius and Jehan, though, so Enjolras decided not to interrupt their scene. They spotted him anyway, and all stopped to give a cheerful wave as he took a seat on one of the middle tiers of the theater. He grinned and gave a little wave back. Montparnasse, sitting by Claquesous up at the front, turned to see who they were greeting. When he saw it was Enjolras, he stood and climbed the amphitheater steps up to him.

“Hello, Parnasse,” Enjolras said amicably.

“Hey, so,” Montparnasse seemed nervous, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater. “I-I saw your flyer in there. About you holding your ABC meeting here on Friday.”

“Oh. Was there going to be an extra rehearsal then?” Enjolras asked, his eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Ah, no… no,” Montparnasse shook his head. “I, uh, I was thinking about attending, if that's alright. I mean if it really is open to anyone.”

“You're interested in joining the ABC Society, Parnasse?” Enjolras asked, pleasantly surprised.

“I mean, Bahorel has said such nice things. It sounds fun, the way he tells it.”

“It is,” Enjolras affirmed. “I'd be glad to see you at the open house.”

Montparnasse nodded. “Thanks.”

Beyond Montparnasse, Enjolras spotted the senior members of the football team walking across the grass, heading over to the amphitheater. “Hey!” Enjolras called, waving in their direction.

Montparnasse turned, noticing Bahorel walking with Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Bossuet. He looked conflicted whether he wanted to stay or go, but ultimately decided to slink back to his seat by the stage as the others approached.

“What are you guys doing here?” Enjolras asked.

“After last night’s glorious victory, you don't expect us to take the night off?” Bahorel shook his head with feigned disappointment, the four of them shuffling into Enjolras’s row.

“Of course,” Enjolras agreed. “Well deserved.”

“What were you talking about with Montparnasse?” Courfeyrac asked in a hushed voice, standing over Enjolras and folding his arms.

“He wants to come to the new ABC meeting,” Enjolras answered simply, looking up at him. Courfeyrac snorted out a laugh, but Enjolras continued on. “We should let him see if he wants to join,” he explained, and behind Courfeyrac, Bahorel’s face looked hopeful. “That's what our new philosophy is all about.”

“But it's Montparnasse,” Courfeyrac countered. “You hate each other.”

“We've worked it out,” Enjolras said, the words almost amusing to say.

Courfeyrac paused, taken aback, and looked behind him at the others in confusion. Bahorel quickly nodded confirmation, and Courfeyrac slowly turned back to Enjolras. “Well, alright then,” he said, sitting down heavily in disbelief, the other three sitting down alongside him. “There's so much going on lately it's hard to know what to expect anymore.”

“Tell me about it,” Enjolras smiled, his gaze drifting over to watch Grantaire up on stage. “I know now how quickly the way you feel about a person can change. And how fast they can change you. You think you don’t get along, but then it turns out you’re more alike than you ever knew, and they can be the most amazing person you've ever met.”

“Wow,” Courfeyrac said, incredulous. “Never thought I'd hear you say such nice things about Montparnasse.”

Enjolras blinked, processing his words before suppressing a laugh. “Right,” he said, his eyes still on Grantaire as he strode across the stage, running through his lines with King Marius and Queen Jehan. As he watched, it became clear to him why Grantaire had been cast as Prince Hamlet. Even in rehearsals, he had a magnetic presence on stage that seemed to outshine the rest. Or perhaps, Enjolras realized, it was simply that he had fallen head over heels for Grantaire, and couldn't take his eyes off him anyway.

He had to force himself to, though, to get some homework done, which was hard enough with his rowdy football friends beside him. But he managed to finish his work for Economics and History by the time rehearsal was over, and they all headed to the Great Hall together to have a late dinner with the acting troupe. “You're going to be an amazing Hamlet,” Enjolras told Grantaire as they walked to the cafeteria.

Grantaire smiled modestly. “Really?”

“You're very talented. Just as you are with art.”

“Wow, thank you, Enj. That means a lot to me.”

“Oh!” Enjolras exclaimed. “I’ve just remembered, I have something exciting for you.” He swung his bag around, opening it up and digging past his homework.

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked curiously.

Enjolras held out the envelope with a flourish. “Something came for you this afternoon.” He handed it over, smiling.

Grantaire took the envelope, wide-eyed. Even in the dim evening light, he could read the return address. “It’s from my mom,” he said, awestruck. “She didn’t forget about me.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras said, watching him.

He held the letter to his chest, a precious object he would read when they went inside. “I’m so glad,” he said softly.

“After the phone call from Valjean, she’ll probably want to hear back from you,” Enjolras reminded him gently. He’d eventually have to do the same, with his own family.

“I know,” Grantaire nodded, but he was still in a pleasant daze, looking down at the sidewalk in contemplation. “You think I should ask my parents to come to the play, when it opens?”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras nodded. “They'll be so proud of you. And you can show them everything you've accomplished since you've been here. And, well, maybe I can meet them, too,” he added lightly.

Grantaire put an arm around his shoulders affectionately. “Don’t worry, Enj. They'd love you. Just like me.”

At dinner, they all sat together at one table, the actors, the football players, and Enjolras. Montparnasse casually took a seat by Bahorel, the two of them exchanging secret glances, and Enjolras couldn't help but smile to himself, seeing a reflection of his own secret in them. Grantaire sat beside him, tearing open his letter now and reading it eagerly at the table over his dinner. “She wants to know everything,” he told Enjolras with a lopsided smile. “So many questions!” There was so much giddy affection in his voice it was endearing.

The table was later joined by Combeferre and Joly, back from their first meeting of the science club, and the assemblage was complete. Here amongst all his friends, laughing and talking once more, a feeling returned to Enjolras. It was the same feeling he had the night before school started, when he had spent the evening with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the feeling of potential, excitement for the unknown, for new beginnings. Now once again, fresh starts were happening all around him. Grantaire, Montparnasse, the ABC Society, Debate, Corinthe itself. Tomorrow, Valjean would be sitting down with the student council to discuss improvements to the school, and Enjolras would be right there in the middle of it all, helping to shape the future. And it would be a mysterious, wondrous future indeed.

He parted ways with his friends back at the dorms, the boys all disappearing behind their bedroom doors. At the end of the hallway, Enjolras and Grantaire waved a goodnight to Bahorel, who was alone for the moment, but happy, thanking Enjolras for extending his offer to the boy from Patron-Minette. When the door closed behind them, they changed into their pajamas and returned to homework, studying on their separate sides of the room at first, before eventually ending up together on Enjolras’s bed. They sat comfortably close, Grantaire reading his science text while Enjolras made progress in _Notre-Dame de Paris,_ and when it was time to go to bed they stayed there.

In the dark, they kissed for a long while, enjoying each other with no reason to hurry. They were too tired to do anything more, so when they had their fill of kisses, they settled down to sleep. Grantaire cuddled up behind Enjolras, spooning him, and tucked his arm securely around his waist. It was perfect, Enjolras realized, how well the two of them fit together, the shape of their bodies echoing one another as they lay curled up like this. Here at Corinthe, nestled in the warmth of Grantaire's arms, he felt at home.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras spoke up in the darkness.

“Mm?”

“I'm so glad you happened to me.”

“Happened?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes. You didn't ask to be put with me. But now I wouldn't ask for anything else.” Enjolras found Grantaire’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“Me too,” Grantaire whispered, leaving a soft kiss on the back of his neck.

“Even when you tease me,” Enjolras said fondly.

“Even when you're terrible.” Grantaire tickled him, making him squirm.

He laughed and grabbed Grantaire’s hand again to stop him, entwining their fingers to keep hold of him instead. “No more of that. I promise, I'll always be good to you.” He would be a brand new Enjolras for a new Corinthe, and he meant it. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

“I know. I'm not going anywhere, Enj.” Grantaire squeezed his hand back. “I'll always be by your side, no matter what. Wherever you are is where I belong.”

Enjolras closed his eyes, pressing Grantaire's hand to his beating heart. This is how the dominoes had fallen, a chain of events that led them here to this very moment, and changed everything about their lives. Grantaire had been there when Enjolras was at his lowest, and he would be there now, when times were at their best. They had slayed a giant, they had changed a school, they had become men. The path ahead of them led to somewhere bright and beautiful and unknown, an adventure Enjolras couldn't wait to discover with Grantaire at his side.

As he went to sleep that night, he knew he loved this boy, whose hand lay over his heart, and once again, a satyr danced merrily beside him in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the fic. An extra special thank you if you were one of the patient readers who stuck with me for over a year while this fic was in progress, the support meant a lot to me.
> 
> If you had a good time with this fic, I’d love for you to leave a comment and let me know. Any kind words will be appreciated. 
> 
> You can find my art for this fic [here](http://juanjoltaire.tumblr.com/tagged/corinthe-school-for-boys), and fanart made by others [here.](http://juandaymore.tumblr.com/tagged/corinthe%20fanart) Please message me on tumblr if you have any fanart you’d like for me to see and reblog in this tag. Thank you!


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